That Ol' Black Magic
by Slayer Isis
Summary: Part 4 of the Meant To Be series.....Isabella Jamison is a victim of a terrible car accident. But she is neither conscious nor dead.
1. Ch 1 x Fun in Evanston

_**Part 4** in the **Meant To Be** series_

…**THAT OL' BLACK MAGIC…**

_Author:_ Slayer Isis

_Summary:_ (Takes place a couple of months after Part 3)…Twenty-one-year-old Isabella Jamison is a victim of a terrible car accident. But she is neither conscious nor dead. To solve the mystery, she asks the help of a teacher she once had: Professor Cromwell of Northwestern. In doing this, Isabella receives the help of Dean and Sam Winchester.

_Summary Note_: Story takes place after events in Part 3 (obviously). According to the WB _Supernatural_, the episodes "Faith" and "Shadow" (and everything in between) have taken place. Obviously, since Dean is now with Amy, he never slept with Cassie or did any of his usual Dean-Winchester-flirting-stuff. It'll be explained in the story.

_2nd Summary Note_: With "Faith" and "Shadow" (and everything between)…I'm trying to find the best amount of time that has passed. Part 3 of my series left off a few days before New Years-2006. So let's just say, for the sake of my story, Part 4 takes place in…APRIL…aha! There you go…

_Rated:_ PG – PG-13

_Distribution:_ I do not own _Supernatural_ and etc. etc. The things I make up are obviously MINE.

_Theme_: Romance/Action/Adventure/Drama/Angst/Supernatural (obviously)

_Dedication_: To my sister, Sarah

Feedback/Reviews/Comments appreciated!

Hope everyone enjoys the fourth installment of the _Meant To Be_ series…

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter One – Fun in Evanston**

Metallica's "Enter Sandman" was blasting through the speakers. The windows of the red Honda Civic were rolled down as the young woman switched lanes on the interstate.

"_Say your prayers, little one_

_Don't forget, my son,_

_To include everyone_

Isabella Jamison laid one hand on the wheel while the other was carefully drinking a double chocolate chip frappuccino from Starbucks.

_Tuck you in, warm within_

_Keep you free from sin_

_Till the sandman he comes_

Her long black hair blew off to the side as she drove. She always loved the feeling of the windows down while driving. It would have been better if her car was a convertible – she could just put the top down.

_Sleep with one eye open_

_Gripping your pillow tight_

She was a gorgeous young woman. Straight, slick black hair that reached the center of her back and pale blue eyes that reminded people of the night sky when they looked at her. Isabella possessed fair skin – in between peach-and-pale. She was thin, possessing the body of a model. Family and friends would joke and say: "Izzy's pure estrogen," due to her perfect breasts and body type. She worked out regularly, like she was supposed to, but never seemed dedicated enough to get abs; she had a slender, smooth stomach.

_Exit: light_

_Enter: night_

_Take my hand_

_We're off to never-never land_

Her clothes were, of course, perfect: tight jeans, a black halter top with a tight-thin jean jacket over it. Her favorite part about her outfit was her black Converses. She wore them as much as she could; she was so used to wearing Stilettos or other types of heels that caused pain every day. Isabella's agent hated her Converses, and begged many times for her to get rid of them.

_Something's wrong, shut the light_

_Heavy thoughts tonight_

_And they aren't of Snow White_

Isabella paid close attention when she saw the green sign: _EVANSTON, IL – NEXT EXIT._

A relieved smile crossed that graceful face. _Finally, _she thought. She had been driving straight from California. She hated planes and trains. Driving was the only thing that could possibly work for her.

She placed the empty Starbucks cup in the cup holders and turned the music on louder.

She was excited about seeing her family. It had been too long. She wasn't looking forward to the regular lectures, though, like: "You should have finished university" and "Being an actress is a nice goal, but have a back-up" and "Hollywood will _corrupt_ you."

The twenty-one-year-old smiled to herself. She told herself: "It'll be okay, Spielberg will be begging me to be the lead in one of his movies. Some day…"

She made a turn and found, to her excitement, she was now on a regular road. No more highways or interstates. She was more relieved to go fifty or forty miles per hour than sixty or seventy. She hated speeding too.

Her eyes fell upon the old familiar sites. She had missed Illinois. The trees were blooming and the flowers and bushes looked full and fresh on the side of the road.

_Dreams of war, dreams of liars_

_Dreams of dragon's fire_

_And of things that will bite_

_Sleep with one eye open_

_Gripping your pillow tight_

It would only be half an hour or less before she would arrive at the old house. Isabella sat up excitedly in her seat.

_Exit: light_

_Enter: night_

_Take my hand_

_We're off to never-never land_

She scratched her ear annoyingly. A fly had most likely got caught in the stirring wind and was now buzzing around her car. She could ear its tiny wings flap. Isabella waved her hand by her ear, she hated that she was missing the song.

_Now I lay me down to sleep_

_Pray the Lord my soul to keep_

_If I die before I wake_

_Pray the Lord my soul to take_

She sighed in her stiff position and adjusted herself in her seat. Her slender fingers combed through her black hair and she relaxed her head back.

_Hush little baby, don't say a word_

_And never mind that noise you heard_

_It's just the beasts under your bed_

_In your closet, in your head_

"Dammit…" Isabella muttered. She could have sworn she heard her cell phone ringing. But her eyes glanced down in the passenger seat and she reached for her metallic Razr cellular device. There had been no call. _Funny, _she thought miserably. _I've been driving too long. I'm hearing things too now._ Obviously this bothered her. She realized then she had not heard a ringing or a buzzing. She could have _sworn_ she heard a person's voice.

Isabella looked around. A part of her almost felt like someone was in the car with her. Her luggage was in the trunk and a couple of her jackets and sweaters were in the backseat. But there was no other living soul in the car.

_It's just me…_Isabella reminded herself. _Stop freaking out…there's no one in the car…just drive…_

She shook her head. It made her feel better, like all the crazy thoughts were being rattled out.

Isabella blinked several times and widened her eyes.

_Exit: light_

_Enter: night_

_Grain of sand_

There was no time to scream. She realized the car was going straight. The steering wheel was stuck.

And the car was directed toward a very large telephone pole.

_Exit: light_

_Enter: night_

_Take my hand_

_We're off to never-never land.."_

Isabella fainted out of fear as she realized there was nothing she could do. Her hands fell limp to her side and the small red Honda collided with the huge metal pole.

The front top crushed completely like paper and Isabella's body hit the wheel hard.

The car stopped abruptly in the middle of the street. Dozens of cars pulled over and people walking out of small shops rushed to the site.

A woman was on her phone, calling an ambulance; while another man was desperately crying out if there happened to be a doctor anywhere.

As the large crowd began to grow, Isabella opened her eyes and realized she was safe on the ground.

"I'm okay…" was the first thing she muttered aloud. It was a surprise she wasn't hurt. _I must have been flung from the car._

She moved slowly, as to not increase any pain or injury she may have suffered. But Isabella found she felt fine. Somewhat numb, but fine. She picked herself off the ground as if she had merely tripped on a mattress.

Isabella groggily waved her hands in the air. "Hey, I'm okay…"

The people were still gathered around the car. Isabella narrowed her eyes at the sight of her dismantled car.

She stomped her foot angrily against the street and approached the crowd.

But Isabella stopped again. She couldn't understand this. She _had_ to be imagining things.

She peered over a small boy in the street who was licking a vanilla ice cream cone sloppily.

Isabella was staring at her own body. She knew she was standing right there, behind the messy little child, but she was actually staring at her unconscious, bloody body in the car.

Her body was over the steering wheel, her head gently resting off to the side. Her face had several cuts and there was a very large blood stain on the shoulder of her jacket.

Isabella touched her own shoulder. There was no pain. No blood. No feeling, at all.

"Oh God…" Isabella whispered. _Wake up…wake up…wake up!_

"_HEY_!" she cried desperately. She looked down and saw the little boy. "Hey…" she whispered softly and reached her hand out.

Her hand flowed through the little boy so easily. She reeled back, terrified, at the thought that her hand had completely vanished into the little body's back.

"_Oh God_…" Isabella brought a hand to her mouth. There was still not much feeling. Except for complete and utter terror.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

_Two weeks later…_

The club consisted of two floors, the bottom meant for dancing and the top had tables and several bars. The walls were painted black and the floors were made of black-and-white checkered-marble. It was relatively cool in the place, considering more than four hundred bodies were dancing so close together.

Purple, blue and white lights flashed repeatedly along the walls and floors, making people look like they were dancing like robots. Everything and everyone seemed to move slowly.

She stood on the top floor, leaning over the metal banister. Her eyes watched as her group of friends were dancing off to the side with several unfamiliar men. They looked they were having a good time. Some of them would occasionally look up and beg with their eyes for her to come down and join them.

A long black skirt with a slit by the thigh and a thin white top, which the sleeves hung off the shoulders, was not the "proper" attire her friends had wished. They begged that they wear something more revealing – like a mini skirt and a bustier of some sort.

Amy Cromwell liked the fact that she was presentable and still comfortable in the place. Her hair had grown longer, to her joy, so her hair was brushed smoothly down the sides of her face. Her hair was back to the normal brown color now – most of the red had now faded. Her hands rested gently against the cold metal as she relaxed and continued to watch her friends have a good time.

She sighed with a smile as she saw one of them twirl in a goofy circle and laughed with the others. Amy laughed too, as if she were down there with them.

Not turning, Amy realized there was a man approaching her.

He accosted her smoothly, leaning against the banister with her and taking a quick sip of a beer. He wore a tight black T-shirt and had spiky dark brown hair. The man was handsome – large green eyes and a wide smile with small lips. He looked down with her to the floor and cocked his head to the side.

"Ya know," the man mentioned, "I never thanked you properly."

"Don't mention it," Amy replied plainly, her eyes still focused on her friends.

The man continued: "You saved me about fifteen dollars – I didn't even realize the bouncer was trying to rip me off."

"It happens to the best of us."

"Like I said, I never thanked you."

"I already said 'Don't mention it'."

He laughed, a snobbish laugh, one that you might hear at a cheesy cocktail party in the movies. He was trying to be so suave and it made Amy laugh.

"How about a drink? Or better – a dance?" he asked quickly.

Amy shook her head to herself and turned to the man slowly. "You thanked me. I accepted your gratitude – now go find some girl who looks like she's not having fun."

"That's exactly what I'm doing."

"Trust me, this is me having fun. Woo hoo…" she waved her finger in the air stupidly.

The man grinned seductively and brought his face closer to hers. Amy backed away.

"C'mon, please, I promise to be a perfect gentleman."

Amy narrowed her eyes at him awkwardly and grinned: "Not a lot happening upstairs, huh?"

"If only you knew the _thoughts_ I'm thinking…"

She shrugged and replied, "Don't underestimate me."

"Please, just one little dance?" he asked sweetly.

_You remind me of a pathetic version of Dean Winchester._ Amy shook her head and said, "I'm with my friends. I'm having a good time. See ya."

She turned and continued to gaze down at her friends.

The man did not take his defeat easy.

He reached over and rested his hand on hers.

Amy turned around and firmly said, "You're wasting my time." She bit her lip. "And yours."

"And how's that?" he replied, licking the side of his mouth quickly.

She tilted her head at him and shook her head disappointedly. "Go home. It's late. Tuck your kids in. Go talk to your wife."

His eyes grew wide and he removed his hand from hers. There was no ring on his finger, and no way of the man understanding how Amy seemed to know. He said nothing and turned around. The man walked away scratching the back of his neck.

Amy didn't watch as the man went to a booth with his friends, grabbed his jacket, and left.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Rochelle, Violet, Dana, Erin and KC were skipping up the stairs as they ran into Amy. The friends laughed together and Rochelle, a tall African American woman with dark black hair, smiled and reached for Amy's arm.

"C'mon girl, why not dance?" Rochelle asked loudly, the music more intensified now.

Amy shook her head and, arm in arm with Rochelle, led the girls back to their table.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

They were all dressed in a sexy fashion – short skirts, tight and/or revealing tops, and they all had their hair pulled up to reveal more of their necks and chests.

Amy sat down with a pink martini as the other girls joined at the circular table.

The six laughed and talked with one another about the basic things: how their week went, how their current boy friends were doing, and job complaining.

Rochelle worked as an assistant in a law firm. She had wanted to be a lawyer for some time, graduating with a degree from Harvard to do so, but changed her mind drastically after graduation. For the time being, this was her opportunity to discover her 'true calling'.

Violet was an AP World History teacher at the nearby high school. She was Amy's closest friend – Amy had tried time and time again to beg Violet to let Amy try and get her a job in one of the universities, but Violet simply denied the generous offer. She really felt her place was with teenagers.

Dana and KC were cousins, mistaken for sisters sometimes, who usually dressed alike – Dana in a gold sequent top while KC was in silver. They worked together in a doctor's office.

Erin was another close friend of Amy's – of course, they were all Amy's close friends – but Erin and Violet were the ones she spent most of her time with. Erin had been the first person Amy met when she first moved to Illinois. Erin's uncle was a professor at Northwestern. Her job was in Human Resources for a big company called Hi-Tek.

Amy stared around her group of friends as they continued to engage in gossip and fun conversation. It had been a while since she had had an outing like this.

She had missed this.

"So, my parents want to meet him," KC was describing to the table, "and I already warned them that they wouldn't like him. Chad is very passionate about politics and worse: he's a very passionate Democrat."

"Your parents would really have an issue about that?" Violet laughed as she drank champagne from a clear blue glass. She caught Amy's eye and winked at her friend quickly.

KC shrugged and said, "You bet your ass. Plus they're going to take one look at him…" She paused and noticed everyone was waiting for her to finish. "And once they see how gorgeous he is – they'll know we've been-"

"CHEERS!" a group of men called out from around the corner.

The young woman laughed and they all cheered their different varieties of glasses.

Dana, sitting to Amy's right, tapped her shoulder and asked, "So, when are we meeting _your_ guy…"

"Yeah, I know," Erin laughed. "We want to meet this Dean character."

"Hold your horses," Amy laughed as she took a sip of her martini. "He's coming into town – with his brother – in like two days. You can meet him then."

"AND this brother of his," Rochelle laughed.

Amy rolled her eyes and warned, "Behave, girls. I haven't seen them in _four _months. We want a quiet, normal get-together."

"Quiet and normal?" Violet questioned. "Well, that's definitely NO fun."

_Anything without ghosts, demons, or psychotic females is fun for us, _Amy thought.

"Good, so when they arrive, we'll all go dancing!" Erin announced.

Amy nodded and said, "No worries – you'll meet 'em. Just give them some time – I want them to relax while they're visiting."

"We can help them _relax_," KC whispered slyly. All the girls laughed again and continued their drinks.

They were obviously drunk. Amy had only had half a martini. She laughed with her friends and allowed herself to join in the fun.

It was a sad thought: Dean and Sam had been away for four months. It felt so much longer than that. They had kept in close contact: weekly phone calls, when they could, e-mails and several times they sent post cards.

_Two days…just be patient…two days…_Amy took a long sip of her drink.

"Professor!" she heard from a distance.

Amy turned around, expecting to see one of her students. She saw them a couple of times when she came to the club, most of them getting in with fake IDs.

But there was no student to be seen. No familiar face, other than the drunk girls sitting at the table beside her.

_Odd, _Amy turned back around.

It was only seconds later when she heard, "Amy!"

She turned around again, more quickly this time, in case someone was playing around with her.

Again, there was no one.

"What's up?" Rochelle asked and Amy turned to her friend slowly.

"Never mind," Amy noted and then refrained from drinking any more that night.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

The cab dropped her off within the apartment complex. Amy asked the driver to stop by the entrance, even though he offered to drive her to her place, the young woman asked to walk a bit.

The night was cool and the plants and trees around her were fresh. She loved April. The weather was perfect in Illinois. She loved the cool, random breezes and the soft sounds of the wind blowing around her.

Amy ran a hand through her hair and continued her walk up the hill to her apartment. She had removed her heels and was now walking barefoot in the road.

It was close to three o'clock in the morning. Her friends were still partying.

She glanced up to her apartment and noted her lightless home.

_So tired…_she muttered to herself.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

She dropped her heels by the door as she closed and locked it. Amy took her black purse and then dropped it off on the kitchen counter as she entered the main living room of her apartment.

The walls were still nicely cluttered with movie, art, and photography posters. There were more books stuffed into the book shelves, most of the new ones containing information about the paranormal and supernatural on-goings in the world.

Amy stretched her arms above her and yawned. She could easily fall onto her leather couches and go to sleep.

She merely sat down for a moment and combed her hair with her fingers.

"Amy…" she heard her name again.

She raised her head quickly and leaned further back into her couch. _Am I that drunk? _She thought fearfully.

Amy looked around the quiet apartment. Not another voice. She sat up in the couch and narrowed her eyes at the air.

"Mary…" Amy called out loud. "_Jessica_…"

"You _can _hear me!" the voice cried happily.

Amy, more alarmed than ever, jumped out of the couch and her eyes searched around the apartment wildly.

"Look!" Amy called aloud. "Spirit, ghost, whatever! Just…relax…you're dead, okay? Get over it! I can't help unless you let me see you – and if you don't want me to see you, then go into the light! Okay? Go on…crossover…it's easy-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" the voice asked oddly.

Amy widened her eyes. "Okay, I hate this whole only-voice-thing!"

She almost had a heart attack that moment – for a figure randomly appeared before her. It made Amy jump back and she fell onto the couch.

It was a young woman standing before her. A familiar person. She wore black Converses, jeans, a black top and a jean jacket. She had dark black hair and pale blue eyes. The face was slightly pale, as if the young woman had been sick earlier. Amy continued to stare at the figure in front of her.

This was not like the regular apparitions. Usually the ghosts who had problems crossing over looked like they did when they were dead – rotting, almost melting flesh and sunken faces.

This woman was gorgeous – but her face told Amy that she was incredibly frightened but glad that Amy was looking at her.

"Professor Cromwell…" the young woman whispered happily.

Amy narrowed her eyes surprisingly. "Wait…Isabella…Izzy?"

The young girl clapped her hands together excitedly. "Aha! You can see me!"

She closed her eyes tiredly and reopened them. Yes, Isabella was still right there in front of her.

"I'm not dead," Isabella noted.

Amy looked down and found that Isabella was standing in the middle of her black table. Her legs had gone through the top surface.

She cocked her head to the side and Amy sighed, "This should be interesting."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: I KNOW I KNOW! I just finished Part 3 and already I'm updating a NEW story! But I couldn't help it – I was bored and I had to do something! I hope you're all enjoying – please, reviews/feedback/comments appreciated – especially on the first chapters. MORE COMING ASAP!


	2. Ch 2 x Just a Normal Visit

**Chapter Two – Just a Normal Visit**

He leaned against the black Impala as the car was filling up. The Quik Trip was packed that Saturday afternoon. It felt good this time of year, luckily, Dean Winchester could relax in his heavy brown leather jacket. He crossed one ankle over the other as he waited.

His eyes turned sideways and found Sam still hanging out within the gas station. He had finished paying for the gas and two cups of coffee. This was basically breakfast for them.

Dean touched his forehead. _Damn, _he thought irritably. Even though they weren't noticeable, the scars from the claw marks were still there. He was reminded of the shadow demons for only a moment but he removed his finger from the four thin lines.

Sam had had it worse. He had been struck across the cheek and he also had four thin scars resting on his face. His wounds had been deeper.

They had actually been hanging out in Illinois for some time. It had just been a month ago when they had reunited with their father and dealt with Meg and the shadow demons. Dean and Sam could have easily gone to visit Amy, but there were several concerns in the process: One: They wanted to wait for their wounds to heal; Two: Both brothers feared if they approached Amy too soon, she would also be a target of the shadow demons – or whoever the hell Meg was working for; Three: Amy had been busy with work; and Four: They were hesitant to have Amy get involved.

She was a happy thought for him. Dean had dealt with so much since he had last seen her. Thinking of Amy gave him some peace. And for once, this would just be a normal visit. No ghosts. No demons. No monsters. No death-or-dying related topics.

Dean had almost died. He remembered that well. In his phone calls and e-mails to Amy, he had only told her of the Grim Reaper and the pastor's crazy wife. Sam had begged Dean to call Amy, during the time he still had the heart problem, but Dean wanted to tell her in person – but with everything that happened afterward, Dean made Sam swear to never tell Amy about what had happened to him. It would worry her too much.

Then there was the time when Dean and Sam separated a bit. Of course, they had reunited later, but it didn't change the fact Dean almost accepted the idea of splitting up with his brother once again. He would never admit to Sam how glad he was to partner up with his brother again. Dean merely told Amy they dealt with an insane town that worshipped a Pagan God – a scarecrow.

Cassie. That involved another fun-filled Winchester adventure, and Cassie was just another detail Dean left out of the story for Amy. The reunion with Cassie had been awkward – they never even touched each other until they shook hands when they were departing. But at least the job was done. The ghost was sent away along with the ghost of the "Killer Truck," as Dean mentioned in his e-mail to Amy.

Sam's premonitions getting more complicated. Amy was informed of everything that happened then. Everything that involved the teenager Max. Everything that involved Sam's new found power – telekinesis.

Amy knew of the crazy rednecks that killed for fun and that they kidnapped Sam.

But both Dean and Sam were still unsure of how to tell Amy of what happened in their last supernatural hunt. Maybe Meg and the shadow demons would be an easy story to tell – but everything with their father, the new dangers in their hunting, the brothers weren't sure if it would be a good idea to tell Amy and have her want to get involved – plus it would worry her too much.

_Just a coupla hours away…_Dean thought happily. He sighed at the thought. He would see Amy soon and the three of them could have a normal get-together for once. They could party, eat out, and drink, the normal routines that normal people do.

Dean removed the pump from his car and hooked it back onto Station 3. He turned around in time to see Sam slowly approaching him.

He carried the two hot cups of coffee and came around to hand Dean his breakfast.

"You okay?" Sam asked slowly as he took a sip.

Dean created that look that said: "What are you talking about?" He merely responded, "Just tired. We should get back on the road. We're close to Evanston." He licked off the bit of foam that caressed his upper lip.

Sam nodded slowly and motioned for his brother to get in the car. Dean scowled and then climbed into the driver's seat.

He wasn't sure of what to make of this. Sam knew Dean was upset with himself for forcing his father to leave the two of them. Again. They hadn't talked for a week – Sam was so upset. They had been searching so long for their father and for the thing that killed Mary Winchester and Jessica. And finally, they had their father and a possible link to killing the bastard. But Dean let him go. The right thing to do, of course. But it hurt every time Sam had to think about the moment his father got into his truck and drove away.

There had been no word from their father since then.

"You comin'?" Dean barked from the car jokingly.

Sam snapped out of the brief memory and went around to the passenger's side.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

"So, artists to know…Salvador Dali…Marc Chagall…Rene Margritte…Joan Miro…Meret Oppenheim – yes, the '_crazy_ lady' that covered a teacup and a spoon with fur – and Chirico. Of course you all have your list of artists – remember, that are about twenty-plus of them – but these six are the ones that your essays will be on."

Amy, attired in a short black-and-gray checkered business skirt and a white blouse, paced the floor with her thin black heels tapping across the floor. Her hair was pulled up into a bun with a few strands – curled – dangling by her face. She tapped her baton gently against her hand as she pointed toward the power point revealed on the wall.

Students were eagerly taking notes on their laptops and reminded themselves of their schedules of the next two weeks. Finals.

Professor Cromwell lazily held the baton and pointed toward a painting of Salvador Dali.

"Please note symbolism – color choices – shapes, etc.," Amy explained. "I _know_ you have all been studying and working hard this semester – I'm glad my reputation of being a _perceptive_ professor has spread and you've all done your homework, required reading, and writing those incredible papers…" The sixty-plus students in the class exchanged looks with friends and some laughed.

The young woman smiled to her students and looked throughout the auditorium with a grin. "Finals are coming up and I know you're all busily trying to get everything together. So take the time I give you and wisely decide what you are going to do with this. And remember…this class has not just been about identifying paintings and painters…it's the history behind these artists…looking deeper within the colors and lines. You have all shown incredible knowledge in this area. Soon, it'll be official that you're all ready to go out in the world and you can respectfully start a conversation about Michelangelo's David or talk about the many different Venus' in the world. I'm very proud…" Amy solemnly clapped her hands. "Now, everyone enjoy your Monday. I'll see you all Wednesday morning. And I look forward to reading your final papers. Good day!"

The class clapped at the end of the class – like they always did – and slowly began to gather their things.

It was a sad thought that she had less than two months left with the students. Some had become her friends – weekly luncheons and fun discussions other than art. Others had grown fond of her and she was pleased to write so many recommendation letters for transfers and job opportunities. These were excellent students.

Most of them had left when Amy turned to the desk in the front and sat down for a moment to check the rest of her schedule.

_Art History – Monday – 2:30 P.M. – 3:50 P.M._

_Futurism, Surrealism, & Pop Art – Tuesday – 9 A.M. – 10:30 A.M._

_Art History – Wednesday – 1 P.M. – 2:20 P.M._

_Art of Egypt History – Thursday – 10 A.M. – 11:30 A.M._

_European Modernism & International Avant Gardes – Friday – 3 P.M. – 4:30 P.M._

She stared tiredly at her schedule. She had less Art History classes this semester, especially with the addition of another art history teacher, a sixty-five-year-old man called Professor Albert Hooter. People mocked that his class was a "hoot" and that he knew more of chisels and paint brushes than he did of actual works of artists.

But still, she enjoyed the new classes she was teaching – she specifically brought it up to the board and had it acknowledged to have an Egyptian Art History class. Who knows? There could one day be another Natiskawa fiasco.

Closing her schedule book, she placed the leather journal into her black work bag beside her seat. She sighed and peered upward to see students still hanging around in their seats engaged into deep conversation.

Her head went back down to gather three large textbooks on the corner of her desk – each book was about four inches wide in pages. She cringed at the thought of carrying them to her car.

Through the large opened doors on the bottom floor, two heads popped into the arm and glanced around.

Sam, smiling, stared in the direction of Amy's desk – and then Amy. Dean had already found her the moment his eyes shot through the room.

She looked beautiful sitting at her desk gathering her things.

The brothers entered the classroom quietly as they approached the desk.

Amy stuck two large folders into her bag when she felt like she was being approached.

She turned and let out a tiny, happy gasp.

Dean now wore a pair of clean-not-so-torn jeans and a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Sam was dressed in a tight blue T-shirt that showed the lines in his abs and revealed his much-stronger arms since last they met.

Amy couldn't move from her seat for a moment. She was so stunned to see them. Yes, she was expecting them, but this was more startling than she would have imagined.

She got up from her seat then, mouth dry, and straightened out her skirt.

Dean was smiling at her as Amy skipped around her desk quickly and flew to the brothers.

He walked up first and Dean was the first to catch Amy's body flying into his arms.

She was lifted off the ground a couple of inches, like always, as Dean embraced her tightly. Amy rested the lower half of her face on his shoulder as her eyes closed in sheer joy.

Dean's strong arms were wrapped around her waist as Amy's arms were wrapped around his shoulders.

She pulled away for just a moment in order to have a better position of kissing him. Dean accepted the greeting and kissed her back.

_Four months…_

He held her tighter against him.

It was now that the remaining students began to holler and clap their hands – the female students were giggling and clapping.

Amy smiled as she kissed Dean and pulled away slowly to stare at him.

"Hi."

"Hi," Dean grinned.

Amy laughed as she leaned her head down to kiss him again.

Dean lowered Amy back onto the floor and the couple continued to stare at each other.

Sam coughed loudly and then he did again. Amy turned to look at him and then quickly rushed to him too.

He gathered her up into his arms and Amy laughed as the two friends hugged. "Oh, Sam…" Amy whispered happily.

"Hey Amy," Sam greeted quietly. "I'm okay – you didn't have to be as happy to see me as much as you were to see Dean."

Amy rolled her eyes and pulled away quickly to kiss Sam on the cheek. "There ya go, kiddo."

Sam smiled as he placed his hands on her waist and took a good look at her. "You look great."

"So do you…" Amy smiled. But her voice faded when noted four very thin scars on his cheek. She stared at them closely and narrowed her eyes at them. "Sam-" she gasped and touched his cheek. Sam winced – not in pain, but upset that Amy now noticed – and arched his head back.

Amy narrowed her eyes at him – as a mother would do to a child – and then her gaze when to Dean.

He rubbed the back of his neck and tried to tilt his head up. But Amy noticed his scars too.

She moved closer to Dean and reached up to touch his forehead. He took hold of her wrist gently before she could touch him.

"Dean-"

"It's okay, Amy," Dean reassured. "We're okay."

"What happened?" she asked worriedly. Her eyes kept shooting back from Sam to Dean's face. "I don't remember you guys telling me about these wounds – you guys said you were always okay-"

"Our last hunt wasn't as…" Sam started slowly, "pleasant."

Amy, concerned, continued to look at the scars on Sam's face when Dean pulled her closer to him. Startled, Amy turned to him and Dean brought his face close to hers.

"Hey, we're here…" he whispered with _that_ smile. "Let's have a fun visit, shall we? We'll tell you everything later."

Amy smiled slowly and nodded. "It's so good to see you, Dean."

"Dido."

He touched her face gently and bent down to kiss her again.

Sam, rolling his eyes, laughed and joked: "Okay, c'mon, I'm tired – let's get back to the apartment. We can reunite properly there. And I'm ready to start this vacation." He clapped his hands together and sighed in relief. _No monsters for a while._

Amy turned her head awkwardly to Sam and bit her lower lip. "Umm…oh…about our visit…"

"You mean the one filled with much partying and drinking and _ooh-la-la_-" Dean laughed, putting a horribly-fake French accent at the end.

She tried to smile but an awkward "ha-ha" look appeared.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her oddly. "What…"

She folded her hands together and reached happily for Dean's hands. "I'm so glad that the both of you are here-" She glanced at Sam and smiled widely "it's just...well…our _normal_ visit…it's gonna need a rain check."

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at her wryly. "What exactly are you talking about?"

"Look," Amy sighed sadly, "my friend needs your help. She's back at my apartment – waiting – and she strictly asked me that I don't explain everything until we get back home. She's unsure of how _professional_ you two are in the _area_ so she wants to make sure that you _see_ her first and understand what's happening-"

"W-Wait wait wait wait…" Dean held up his hands and squinted at Amy. "You're telling me we're on the job now?"

She bit her lower lip sheepishly and the professor replied: "It's an odd case. I've done my own research. But you two are the professionals…" She looked upon the now-depressed expressions both Dean and Sam gave one another but tried to hide from her when they realized Amy noticed. "I know you guys wanted to have a normal vacation-slash-visit. Please…it's an old friend of mine…"

Dean sighed and tilted his head to Amy. He reached for Amy's hand and squeezed it gently.

Sam smiled and reached over to touch her shoulder. "It's okay. We're here for business and pleasure."

"Yeah," Dean agreed irritably. "Let's just…get the _business_ stuff over with and move on with the _pleasure_ stuff."

Sam and Amy both raised their eyebrows at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes and groaned, "Not like _that_-"

His brother and girlfriend both laughed hysterically. Sam shook his head jokingly and Amy tiptoed up to kiss Dean on the side of his mouth. Dean pouted slightly but quickly wrapped his arm around Amy's shoulder as the three prepared to leave.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Amy left in the white Mini Cooper while the guys followed in the Impala.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

The cars parked side by side in the apartment parking lot. They got out of their cars at the same time while Amy reached into her car and grabbed her black bag before locking the car door.

Dean and Sam walked around to the back of the car to grab their duffel bags.

Instead, as Sam went to fetch his own things, Dean took a detour and came to Amy's side.

He took the heavy textbooks from her hands and smiled.

"Ah, such a gentleman," Amy laughed.

Dean cocked his head to the side and crooned, "Yeah, I know."

Sam, taking both his bag and Dean's from the trunk, rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Maybe Big Brother can be a gentleman and help his brother out," Sam called to the couple.

They turned to him and Amy motioned for Dean to go help him.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

The three walked up the familiar steps to the third floor of the building. Sam and Dean remembered that it was a nice complex – carpeted floors and large mirrors. It was very similar to a hotel – but thankfully this was ten times better than the places the guys had been staying at lately.

Dean and Sam carried their own bags – along with some of Amy's work things – as Amy paused in front of her door – Number 607.

"Okay," Amy warned before she opened the door, "remember…you both kinda-like me…so you won't be upset at me if this case takes a bit longer than the others…it may be stressful…it may be dangerous…but KNOW…this is a friend of mine…and you two are good men at heart…and you'll help no matter what."

Dean and Sam grinned and each held up their index-and-middle fingers in the air.

"Scouts honor," Dean mocked as Sam sniffed a laugh.

Amy smiled happily at her friends. She was so happy to have them stand there before her apartment door.

_This better be a good visit, _she thought as she unlocked the door.

They entered the main hallway and the three of them dropped off their belongings by the door. They would settle in later.

The three came inside the living room and noticed the TV had been left on.

Amy put her hands together as she searched her apartment.

"Isabella?" she called aloud.

"Where is she?" Dean asked as he searched the room. "Bedroom? Bathroom?"

"Umm…" Amy gulped slowly. "I think it's just better that we wait 'till she comes to us…Isabella?"

Sam stared at her oddly and asked, "Is she even here?"

"She really has no excuse to go anywhere else…" Amy noted.

The two brothers looked at Amy oddly as she continued to look around the room. She didn't bother to search the guest room – where Dean and Sam both guessed this Isabella was staying at – or search any other part of the apartment.

"Isabella…" Amy crooned and closed her eyes in a frustrated way. "I hope I'm not going crazy…" she whispered to herself.

"Amy…" the three heard a voice whisper within the air.

"Whoa," Dean narrowed his eyes and looked around. He saw no one.

Amy's head looked up as she gazed around the apartment.

"Amy…" the soft voice whispered again.

"Izzy!" Amy whispered loudly.

Dean and Sam continued to look strangely through the living room. Who had called Amy's name?

Both brothers were stunned when suddenly they watched as a figure came directly out of the wall.

Each took a surprised step back and stared fearfully at the figure.

They looked at the young woman before them as her body erupted from the wall and she walked across the floor silently. She made no noise as she walked.

Her black hair rested gently beside the sides of her cheek. She looked slightly pale, and her pale blue eyes looked almost-sad.

"Isabella…" Amy breathed in relief.

Isabella stared at the stunned pair of men and waved her hand plainly at them.

Sam narrowed his eyes at her and whispered, "Hey…"

Dean widened his eyes, stretching them out, and asked, "Is she, umm, dead?"

"No," the woman replied. "I'm not."

Dean and Sam weren't exactly sure of whether or not to believe that. After all, she had just walked through a wall.

Amy turned to Dean and Sam and explained, "Guys…this is Isabella Jamison…"

"Hi," Isabella greeted, trying to put more perk into her hello but still received gaping looks from the Winchesters. "Amy," Isabella whined, "I thought you said these guys have dealt with this sorta thing before."

"They have," Amy reassured.

"Sorry," Sam apologized sweetly. "It's just…you took us off guard. Umm…" He turned to Dean and then gazed back at the solid, yet porous woman. "I'm Sam Winchester. This is my brother, Dean. Umm…do you mind explaining how this happened to you?"

"I'm not dead," Isabella explained once more. "My body is at the Evanston City Hospital about forty minutes away. I'm in a coma."

"You're in a coma," Dean repeated.

Isabella nodded.

Amy turned to the guys and explained, "Izzy was in a car crash about two weeks ago. According to Isabella…she woke up the street and she found herself to be like…" She stared at Isabella. "Like this."

Sam stuck his hands into his back pockets and nodded. "Okay, we'll take it from the beginning."

Sam, Isabella, and Amy both stared at Dean oddly. His mouth was parted slightly as he continued to stare at Isabella.

"Dean?" Amy asked oddly.

Dean sighed and finally turned away from Amy's friend. He walked through the trio and then slumped onto the black leather furniture.

"You okay?" Sam asked, thinking his brother was in some sort of shock.

He rested his fist beneath his chin and Dean sighed. "Just a normal visit…" he mumbled to himself.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Hope you're all enjoying – reviews/feedback/commented appreciated! MORE COMING ASAP.


	3. Ch 3 x Winchester Way

A/N: Sorry it has taken me **so long** to update! Things have been so hectic! I absolutely can't wait _Supernatural_'s season finale! I wonder what's going to happen…so excited! But, as we all will, I am going to be terribly sad to wait 2-3 months for the show to come back. At least we have Fanfiction.

Note: Has nothing to do with Supernatural, **V FOR VENDETTA **is the best movie ever! I've seen it three times already – it is AMAZING. GO SEE IT!

Oh, enjoy the story – this chapter isn't as exciting, but still, needed to update.

Another Note: This could possibly be my last update for a while…Spring Break is next week and I am taking a trip to FLORIDA – oh-so-excited. I'll try to update as much as I can!

O.O.O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Three – The Winchester Way**

"I'm driving – next thing I know the steering wheel is stuck and there is absolutely no way of gaining control of the car. I know I fainted before I crashed. There was no pain. I wake up on the street and next thing I know – I'm looking directly at my body in the car. My car was totaled…"

Dean and Sam sat beside one another on the couch while Amy sat on the arm, her hand resting on Dean's shoulder. The brothers sat at the edge of the seat, listening to Isabella's story. The young woman didn't realize that her leg was partially going through the black center table. She continued.

"No one could hear me or feel me. I could touch nothing. I felt nothing. I _feel_ nothing. And it's weird…I can…well…I travel by _thought_. I watched as my body was being hauled into the ambulance. I wanted to go along, of course, but I was worried if I could even sit in the ambulance. Suddenly, I was at the hospital. I waited and my body was sent to the emergency room. They operated on me and apparently saved my life. A couple of ribs were broken and they were afraid my chest had been smashed in the accident. So, I just watched and waited as they put my comatose body into a single room…

"My parents came an hour later. My mother was hysterical – she was crying so much…my step-dad was pretty upset too…he wanted to know what happened…my step-brother eventually showed up too. Next thing you know I have two sets of uncles and aunts and my tiny little cousins…" Isabella paused and sighed sadly. "They couldn't hear me either…for about half the week I screamed in their ears and finally I had to accept that I couldn't get through to them…I started visiting my old friends…I just showed up randomly in their rooms…no luck either…I was so scared…and then, a couple of days ago, I appeared in my friend's dorm room – Alex Myrna – and he was working at the computer. I thought there was no hope left in me…and then I realized Alex was checking up on Professor Cromwell's – _Amy_'s – school website. And I noticed this little note she left permanently on the site…it said something about how she would always be there for her students and so on…and if anything weird or something ever happened…we could confide with her…Alex I guess was used to that and moved on…I found it weird…and then I thought 'Why not?' and so I went on my way to try and find her. I did. And she was the first person to react to my voice…then she could see me…"

Sam, putting his hands together as if he were praying, pressed his lips against his fingertips and thought for a moment. "How is it that _we_ can see you?"

Isabella turned to Amy.

"Well," Amy explained, "at first I could only hear her…then she appeared before me…my guess…maybe people involved with the paranormal can see her, understand? Maybe after everything we've faced…we can see her…Izzy's not a ghost…she's just experiencing an out-of-body type thing…she's not purposely blocking people out…she's not sure of what she's doing exactly…"

"It makes sense," Dean noted. "These things happen. People who are so used to the norm can subconsciously refuse what's right there. Isabella's stuck in this strip – between the spirit plane and our plane."

"How could this have happened?" Sam asked.

Isabella whispered sadly, "I hope you could answer that."

Amy stood up and explained to the guys, "I've done my own research and the only thing I could come up with was astral projection. Maybe Isabella got so scared that she subconsciously leaped out of her body before the car crashed."

"There _have _been cases," Sam thought aloud. "Isabella, have you ever had any other similar experiences?"

The young woman shook her head oddly.

Dean asked, "Have you ever had dreams of different places and you could have sworn you've been there before…do you ever wake up in the morning and feel as if you never slept that night at all…déjà vu in any certain areas?"

Isabella shook her head. "No, nothing like that. Amy already asked me these sorts of questions."

He sighed and Dean shook his head. "Well…I definitely don't have any guesses, you?"

"No," Sam admitted weakly. He stared at Isabella with a hopeful look and smiled. "It's okay…we'll figure this out…as long as we're not dealing with any monsters or demons, I'm sure we'll figure this out ASAP."

"Thanks," Isabella sighed. Then her eyes grew wide. "Wait, demons?"

"Let's focus on one thing at a time," Amy quickly intervened. "I say the best thing to do first is to go to the hospital and see Isabella's body…and maybe we can find a way of inspecting the car – the steering wheel was stuck, right?"

"Well," Dean laughed. "Look who took on the Winchester Way. A psychic-slash-huntress. Very nice." He smiled slyly.

Amy cocked her head to the side and shook her head with a laugh.

"When can we get started on the investigation?" Isabella asked eagerly.

"Oh," Amy thought, "Izzy, lets give the guys a break. I promise, we'll go the hospital tomorrow and see what we can find. I'll make a call to a friend of mine – a psychic – she's a palm reader; she may be able to help." Amy turned to the guys and sighed, "You guys must be hungry. I'll call some food in."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Amy took out several plates from the cupboard as she prepared for their dinner – which should have arrived ten minutes ago.

Dean appeared in the kitchen, wearing his torn jeans and a navy blue T-shirt.

"Sam's trying to reassure Isabella that everything's okay," he explained. "They're on the balcony."

"Good," Amy sighed. "They can get air, well, at least Sam can…"

Dean nodded slowly. "How do you know Isabella?"

She placed the plates carefully on the counter and responded, "In her freshman year, she took my Art History class – it was my first year teaching – we had lunch together on several occasions. She asked for guidance. Izzy's an actress. I think it was at the end of her first year at Northwestern that she dropped out and headed to Los Angeles. We haven't talked since she left. Until now."

"You call her Izzy?"

Amy grinned. "Isabella hates her name. Her family's Italian descent – but they look like the most American family. People usually call her Izzy, Isabel, Bella…"

Dean moved closer to Amy and placed a hand on her waist.

Amy turned to him sadly and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I know you and Sam have been through a lot," Amy murmured. "I just wanted you guys to relax. To actually have a _vacation_…"

"Hey," Dean comforted, bringing his face closer to hers, "it's okay…besides…it's good she came to you. We'll help your friend and as soon as that's done – we'll have our normal visit."

"Good," Amy sighed. "Four normal months without you guys has been hell."

"Trust me," Dean raised his eyebrows wryly. Their faces were leaning closer together. "Four supernatural months without you has been hell too."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Sam wasn't sure he could relax. Isabella looked solid, but he knew that she could pass through any physical object. The young hunter placed his hands on the balcony banister and felt a cool spring breeze pass by. He could feel his hair brush by his face.

Isabella had no reaction to the wind. Her hair stayed perfectly in place.

"I hate this…" Isabella muttered sadly. "I can see the leaves in the trees move against the wind. I see it. I can't feel it. This is awful."

"I'm sorry," Sam admitted weakly. "My brother and I have handled dozens of cases like this before. More complicated and a lot more dangerous – _trust_ me – just be patient."

She sighed and nodded. "Amy said you were the less-complicated brother."

Sam smiled and noted, "Well, she's involved with my brother now, so it's kinda obvious."

Isabella smiled. "I still can't believe any of this is happening…" She shook her head. "I came to Amy and I was so surprised…I had no idea that she – above all people – would know about stuff like _this_. She was always cool. Even as a professor. But I could never imagine that things like _this_ actually _happen_."

"Amy had to learn too," Sam comforted. "It was gradual with her, but she was still shocked. She's had her own fainting spells. But she's used to it now."

"And psychic…" Isabella questioned. "Psychics? Real? I mean, Miss Cleo and all that?"

"Not sure about Miss Cleo," Sam laughed, "but yeah, they're the real thing."

"And you're one too?" she questioned. The surprised look on Sam's face allowed Isabella to explain herself. "Amy told me. She told me your family is into the whole hunting-monsters-thing…she told me about your family…" She made an apologetic look when Sam realized what she was talking about. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Sam offered gently.

"And your girlfriend…that's _terrible_," Isabella added.

"I've dealt with it," Sam explained softly. "And we're going to hunt that thing down – eventually – but right now, you're our concern."

"You have no idea how grateful I am," Isabella whispered. "I was so sure no one would ever hear me or see me. And I hate that my family is going through this, especially my mom."

"You're parents are divorced?" Sam asked, remembering she mentioned a step-father-and-brother.

Isabella nodded. "I was ten. They didn't fight or anything. There was just nothing there. They both admitted they stuck with the marriage as long as they could because of me. So, they split. Oddly enough, I was okay with the whole thing…"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "But then Mom met a guy at work – she's into the whole corporate thing – a receptionist – and she met Greg. He was divorced too. His son – my step-brother – didn't like the pairing – same with me…" Isabella shrugged and continued, "But once they were married, we were okay with the whole thing. Vic and I became closer as we were growing up – he's seven years older than me – but he really turned out to be the big brother I always wanted."

"That's great," Sam mentioned. "What about your dad?"

"He didn't stick around in Illinois," she explained, "He went to Massachusetts. He's supposed to be here too – so we could have our little reunion – but he hasn't shown up yet. And I dunno…I don't feel like going to see him…like this."

"I'm sure he's heard about the accident," Sam suggested. "He'll come."

"I know he will," Isabella sighed. "These two weeks have felt a lot longer…I just want to see all of my family…even though they can't see me."

"So is that why you were heading back to Evanston, to see family?"

Isabella nodded. "Part of the deal. Mom didn't like my dropping out of Northwestern. I was lucky to get in. I didn't do that great in high school. I thought cheerleading and ice skating were more important than Physics and Algebra. But anyway, to make them all happy, I agree to visit when they ask – and when I have the time…"

"Do you like Los Angeles?"

"It's okay. Generally warm. I'm trying to get into T.V…possibly movies…but so far I've done two breast cancer commercials, a couple of Cover Girl shots, and other random photos for magazines. My agent says this is like a prep course. First: get me noticed, and then I can actually call myself an 'actress'…" She laughed a sweet, tired laugh.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked.

Isabella nodded slowly. "I get tired. I don't really sleep. Just tired. But yeah, enough about me."

"I like California," Sam reminisced. "I miss it."

"This road trip must be fun though, right?"

Sam tilted his head to the side. "Besides death-defying situations and trying to save innocent lives – and our own – it's _generally_ been okay…" He added jokingly, "But at least I can spend quality time with Dean."

Isabella smiled. "Vic and I can get into it sometimes. But it's good most of the time." She smiled and said, "Dean and Amy are cute together."

Sam couldn't help but chuckle. "Dean…cute…two words I never thought could be in the same sentence."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Dean brought the cartons of Chinese food onto the black center table. He remembered how they had done the exact same thing when they had first reunited and dealt with the Natiskawa situation. He set the table up while Amy brought in the plates and balanced three bottles of Samuel Adams on the dishes. He quickly helped her and took the dishes out of her hand as Amy placed the beers on the table.

Sam and Isabella came back inside. The twenty-two-year-old closed the balcony door and stared down at their early dinner.

"I think I'll let you guys have some time together," Isabella sighed as she stared at the three of them. "I'm going to go and check on my family."

Amy nodded slowly and smiled sweetly. "Come by tomorrow. We'll try and work things out."

The young woman smiled graciously and turned to Sam and Dean. "Thanks again, you guys…"

"We haven't done anything yet," Dean offered.

"But we will," Sam added.

Isabella smiled and whispered, "Bye…" Her tone was quieter. Dean and Sam suddenly realized her body was fading. The illusion of her solidness was disappearing. She appeared slightly transparent now; they were able to see right through her. In a brief moment, Isabella waved her disappearing hand and was gone.

Amy, apparently used to the disappearing act, sat down slowly on the couch and rested her hands on her knees.

Dean and Sam tried to relax after what happened but instead each of them slumped back into the couches and sighed.

"Sorry…" Amy pouted her lips again. "I promise…once this is all over…you guys are going to get the vacation you've been wanting…now eat up…welcome back to Evanston."

Dean smiled as he sat up and reached for his opened beer. Sam and Amy did the same. The three stared at one another with a small grin and each leaned over to gently clash the tops of the bottles together.

They all said, "Cheers" and drank.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

The room was dark. Candles and incense were lit and the small burning flames supplied the only light. A robed figure passed a small table with several tiny candles lit around the edges. The table was covered in white and yellow rose pedals – both fresh and dead. Small drops of blood tainted the table and rose pedals.

A large portrait was set up on the table. Surrounded by a flamboyant gold frame was a photograph of Isabella Jamison. Her black hair was tossed to the side – the picture obviously taken in the wind. She looked so lively and her smile took hold of the viewer.

A heart, drawn in blood, circled Isabella's face.

The robed figure approached the table and its gloved hands scattered small pebbles along the table. Half of the tiny rocks had been drenched in blood.

The masked person stared down at the rose pedals and bloody objects. Its hidden face then slowly looked up and stared at the picture of Isabella.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: I'll update ASAP! Hope you're all enjoying! Reviews/Feedback really REALLY appreciated!

P.S.: I am SERIOUS – go see **V for Vendetta**…BEST MOVIE EVER – that's it.


	4. Ch 4 x Just Another Night

**Chapter Four – Just Another Night**

Dean disappeared into the kitchen as he took the dirty plates to the sink. Amy's eyes followed him closely and when she was sure he was out of hearing distance, she grabbed Sam's shoulder quickly and brought her lips to his ear. Surprised, Sam leaned closer to hear what Amy had to say.

"I have to explain this quickly," Amy rushed in a silent tone. "_We_ can _see _Isabella because of your mom and Jessica."

"What-" Sam started but Amy interrupted.

"-Listen," she whispered harshly. "Dean can't know about this, remember? Anyway…it's important you know this…Mary and Jessica can't explain what exactly is wrong with Izzy – either they don't know or they're not allowed to tell – but there is definitely something heavy going on with Izzy…something that's apparently _strong_…both Mary and Jess are helping us to see her. It's not just the psychic thing…or the fact that we've dealt with the weird-stuff before…"

Sam turned his head quickly to the kitchen opening. He could hear his brother dropping something on the floor and yelling: "It's okay!"

He turned back to Amy and Sam whispered, "We should explain this to Dean. If this is just more than an out-of-body experience, _he should know_!"

"No!" Amy yelled rather loudly and but caught herself. She continued, "Dean can't know. It's bad enough that you know."

"Maybe we're _meant_ to know…" Sam reminded. "You're the one who told us things happen for a reason. Maybe we're meant to know – we _should_ know."

Amy tilted her head and shook it sadly. "You don't think I want to tell Dean? I have to do this…I'm respecting _their _wishes…"

Sam sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. He searched Amy's sad face and asked, "You've talked to them lately?"

She stared sadly at her younger friend and Amy remarked, "When Isabella first came to me. She doesn't know about my unique ability…since then, I haven't heard from them. No doubt, they're here…but they won't reveal themselves to me…"

He shook his head and rubbed his chin. "Alright, fine…" He closed his eyes for a while and reopened them. "Okay…about Isabella…best thing to do is to see her body at the hospital. Maybe there's something that can help explain what happened to her…"

Amy smiled and rubbed Sam's shoulder. "Thanks. I'll go call my friend, Ms. Forrester, and remind her about tomorrow…I have work in the morning…I'll be back here around ten-forty-five…we'll leave for the hospital then. While I'm gone – if you guys aren't sleeping – you can do more research. Maybe talk to Izzy a bit more."

Sam agreed to the plan by nodding and smiling. Amy smiled back and leaned over on the couch to kiss him on the head. "I've missed you kiddo."

"'Missed you too…" Sam replied and rolled his eyes playfully.

She pulled back and stared down at the thin gray scars on his cheek. Amy bit her lip and asked, "You going to tell me where those came from any time soon?"

"You going to tell Dean your _unique_ ability any time soon?" Sam suggested.

Amy cocked her head at him and rose from the couch when Dean came back to the living room.

"You know that black plate with the swirly thingy around the edge?" Dean asked.

Amy narrowed her eyes and nodded.

Dean bit his lip and said, "I hope you didn't like it too much."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

"Hi, this is Aimes Cromwell in Evanston. I am trying to reach Officer Blake Evans. My home phone number…"

Dean and Sam listened as Amy left a message for the Chicago police station. She hung up after a moment and rejoined them in the living room.

"Ms. Forrester will join us at the hospital tomorrow. We'll get her at around noon…I'd like to get my friend Officer Evans involved with the investigation. Maybe get us closer to the case."

"All you need now is a fake ID and social security number and you're ready to hit the road with us," Dean noted as he took another sip of his beer.

Amy smiled proudly and said, "I've learned it's important to have contacts…especially after everything we've been through…"

"And Ms. Forrester," Sam asked, "she's a psychic?"

"Palm reader," Amy nodded as she sat down on the couch. She had changed into a pair of loose fitting jeans and a thin white T-shirt. "Maybe she can get a good reading from Izzy's hand at the hospital."

"Any other ideas?" Dean asked as he watched Sam flip through their father's journal.

Sam shrugged. "Astral projection is the only thing I can come up with. Isabella is in a coma…and we're _seeing_ her…it's a very strong out-of-body experience…we'll figure more out tomorrow."

"You get one of your little vibe thingies and maybe I can get one of my feelings," Amy suggested. "By the way, how's the whole stretching-out-your-mind doing?"

Sam chuckled, "I haven't been able to do it since we left 1997. 'Guess I'm still not strong enough to do it on my own."

"And the whole moving things with your mind…" Amy questioned. "And that?"

"Worked only once…"

She seemed disappointed. Amy had been really excited to learn of Sam's telekinesis. Dean relaxed back into the leather cushions of the sofa as he finished his second beer.

"_Man_, I'm ready to hit the sack," Dean yawned.

Amy rolled her eyes and sighed, "It's only six o'clock."

"Exactly," Dean yawned again. "A man needs his beauty sleep."

Sam shook his head at his brother and mentioned, "_I _am going to do a bit more research. Maybe there's more to learn from the crash."

Amy nodded sadly. "I hope we figure it out soon."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed slowly and noted, "Some are wondering if Isabella's accident was really an _accident_…" She licked her lip and sighed again. "Some are saying maybe she purposely drove into the pole."

Dean shook his hands angrily and sighed. "Damn. Gotta be rough on her."

"It has been," Amy explained. "Isabella didn't want to explain that. The car was totaled. I doubt they'll find that the stuck steering wheel was the cause of the accident. It's been hard for her family to accept the possible idea of Izzy intentionally crashing her car."

Sam nodded slowly and remarked, "We'll figure this out ASAP."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Sam got the pull-out bed this time. He sat with his back against the black cushions as he typed several things into Amy's laptop. His almond brown eyes were focused on the screen carefully. He scrolled down the page and found a picture of Isabella's car – it didn't even look like a Honda anymore, more like a balled up piece of red paper.

He winced at the sight of the destruction. The pole almost bent in half. Luckily there were no photos of Isabella inside the car.

Continuing to scroll down the page, he turned his head when he realized Dean was coming into the living room. He was really dressed for bed – white T-shirt and a pair of black sweats. He ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair and yawned again.

"You should get some sleep," Sam offered. "We haven't had a lot lately. Remember, we're vacationing…get some sleep."

"And you?" Dean coughed out – caught in between speaking and yawning. "You should be getting some sleep."

"This case is bugging me," Sam muttered. "I can't help but feel really obligated to figure this out soon. Poor Isabella…"

"We'll figure this out soon," Dean assured. "We've dealt with more difficult crap before. This is like us riding a bike."

"A big bike," Sam noted. He stared back at the screen and said, "The possible causes I've found in articles have suggested either Isabella somehow _fell asleep_ at the wheel or she _attempted to kill herself_ by crashing the car…it's insane…"

"Anything about the car?" Dean asked.

"The car was too damaged to inspect, I guess," Sam read on. "There's supposedly an investigation on how this still happened…"

"Sounds like bull to me."

"Same."

Sam leaned back in his couch/bed and shook his head.

"Some vacation, huh?" he smiled.

Dean tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "At least there's no one or nothing after us. We can sleep peacefully."

"Peacefully…" Sam repeated. The word was strange on his tongue. He faced his brother and whispered, "Have you tried calling him yet?"

Dean turned his gaze to the main hallway. He could still hear the shower going on in the bathroom.

"Yeah," Dean answered Sam. "I left a message. He hasn't been picking up – surprise, surprise. He's busy. You know that."

"Still…" Sam sighed. "We've seen him now. It'd be nice to talk to him."

"Give it time," Dean replied annoyingly. "Dad's got a lot on his shoulders right now."

"And us?" Sam laughed. "We're just…what exactly? Having a good time?"

"Look…" Dean replied, trying to keep his tone down and stop a future fight. "Dad's healing too after what happened. Just be happy that those shadow demons are gone and that crazy blonde Meg is no longer a thorn in our asses. Let's just try to relax while we're here. Have a good time with Amy. Save the damsel…and move on with our lives…"

"Lives…" Sam whispered to himself. He watched as Dean made his way to the kitchen. Sam shook his head sadly and murmured, "Do we even have those anymore?"

O.O.O.O.O.O.

_9:00 P.M…_

Sam had been the first to fall asleep. He had his father's journal opened over his chest. Strands of his curly brown hair covered his face. Amy swept the strands away and gently pulled the covers over her friend. Her hair was still wet and she wore a black silk robe. She made sure Sam was comfortable and removed the laptop and John Winchester's journal from the bed. Sam made no movement while Amy took care of him, which was a good sign that he was sound asleep.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Amy opened the door all the way to find Dean half-asleep. He had his arm over his head in the guestroom bed as his eyes were studying the ceiling.

"Hey…" Amy whispered.

"Hey…" Dean whispered back. He sat up slightly in bed as Amy made her way over to him. She sat down on the edge and rested her hand on his.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

Amy reached upward to touch his face. Her fingers traced over the thin scars on his forehead. She narrowed her eyes at him and sighed, "I wish you and Sam wouldn't be so stubborn and just tell me what happened."

"Everything's fine, trust me," Dean tried to reassure her. He took hold of her hand and motioned for her to sit closer with him.

Amy sat more into the bed and lied down. Her head rested on his chest while her hand rested on his. The couple sat quietly together in the dim room.

Dean smiled to himself as he whispered, "I've missed this."

She half-smile and nodded on his chest. She looked up slowly as their fingers tangled with one another's.

"You and Sam have been okay, right?" she asked oddly. "I mean…the last four months haven't been…well…"

Dean nodded.

"You're lying."

"This is what happens when you're dating a psychic."

Amy sat up on the bed and gave a stern glare. "Dean, please…I can't help it sometimes…it just sorta perks my senses…what's been happening with you guys?"

She tried to touch the scars again by Dean intervened. He held her wrist in his hand gently and then rested her hand on his chest.

"My heart is still beating…everything is okay. Remember what we promised each other when we made arrangements for this visit? No worry. No concern. Just good, plain ol' fun."

"Well new factors are involved now."

"Let's focus on helping Isabella…we can still enjoy our time in between," Dean reminded. "This is _supposed_ to be our vacation…Isabella is just a stop sign. And you know how I drive." He smiled and touched the side of her face.

She pouted playfully and rolled her eyes. "I'll try not to worry so much. You know eventually you're going to have to tell me what happened."

A wide grin spread across his face as Dean added slyly, "Why waste time talking?"

She couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Her head tilted to the side as Dean leaned down to kiss her. The contact of lips eased the feeling in the room. There was no worry. No concern. Just the two of them.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

It was midnight when she had fallen asleep in his arms. Dean was careful as he carried her into her own bedroom and tucked her beneath the comforter. Her fair skin glowed against the moonlight before the glow disappeared as Dean drew back the curtains and the room became dark.

He could hear her breathe gently in the dark. Dean didn't mind Amy falling asleep by his side. He knew she had work in the morning, so it was probably better if she woke up to do her regular routine.

Dean left the familiar bedroom and glanced at the sleeping professor before closing the door.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Sam was still dead asleep when Dean made his way to the balcony. He closed the glass doors behind him quietly and stepped into the cool night.

The trees were full and the air was so fresh.

Dean took out his cell phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and moments later had the cellular device to his ear.

Several seconds passed by when Dean spoke softly: "Hey Dad. Me again. Sam and I are in Evanston – staying with Amy. We're handling a new case now. Not-so-dead girl. Pretty interesting." He laughed and bit his lip. "I just wanted to call-again-to make sure that you were okay. I promise as soon as Sam and I can gather full strength (after everything that happened) we'll be back on the road looking for that thing. I just…I just wanted to let you know that everything's okay. Okay?"

He hung up. Dean couldn't help but let his fist fall angrily to his side.

There had been no word since they had departed. Dean wanted so desperately to know if he was okay.

_The life of a Winchester…_

If there wasn't anything holding Dean back, he would be out on the road right now. The fact that they were now so close to finding the thing that killed Mary Winchester killed him. Sam was just as dedicated – but he was the one to suggest a small break.

Dean admitted he needed one. They had to gather back their strength. They were exhausted – physically and mentally.

And Amy. Dean was now involved with her. Four months apart were four months too much. Of course he had to see her. Dean had no problem with that. But still…

_We're so close…_

He always wondered how Sam dealt with this sort of thing when he was involved with Jessica. Jessica never knew the things that Sam knew…the things he had dealt with…the things he had fought…but Sam was able to separate his hunting life from his Stanford one.

Dean knew Sammy could never leave behind this type of life. They would always be obligated to hunt. To fight the forces of darkness. To kill every evil thing.

He had forgotten stars. Dean stared upward and gazed at the sparkling dots in the sheet of ebony. He sighed and took in a deep breath.

Stars or no stars…_This is just another night…another night in my life…_

He wondered if there would ever be any rest for him. For Sammy. For their father. Is the only peace in the world found in death? It couldn't be.

_Will things ever change…_

Dean stuck the cell phone back into his pocket. He glared around the surroundings and slipped through the balcony doors and quietly closed them.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Just a little Dean angst…will update with more fun chapters ASAP. I want to add a fun-exciting chapter before I leave Friday. Hope I can update ASAP – REVIEWS,FEEDBACK MUCH MUCH APPRECIATED!


	5. Ch 5 x Surprise Surprise

A/N: I'm baaaack from my vacation. Florida was amazing. OKAY, so, my oh-so-lovely family did NOT record the recent episode of _Supernatural_, "Something Wicked"…PLEASE, someone comment or something and give me a **_DETAIELD RECAP_** of what happened! I'm dying and pissed that I didn't get to see it!

Well, back to writing – I AM SOOOO EXCITED! HOPE YOU'RE ALL ENJOYING!

O.O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Five – Surprise Surprise**

His eyes shot up quickly. Dean blinked hard and tried to push aside the several nightmares. The night had been uneasy for him. He had dreamed of past hunts. Past experiences.

Dirty blonde hair a mess and hazel eyes worn, Dean stretched in the guestroom bed and allowed his face to fall into the white pillow.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

The black clock in the kitchen showed: 7:55 A.M. Amy, attired in a black skirt and red blouse, sipped slowly at her morning coffee. She checked to make sure her briefcase was placed on the floor in the hall – like always – and she came back into the kitchen to finish breakfast.

Hot eggs and bacon were cooking. Amy knew she had made a lot of noise that morning, getting ready for class, but it was finally the smell that awoke Sam Winchester.

He appeared somewhat freshened up. Hair brushed – slightly – and teeth brushed, Sam walked into the kitchen in fresh clothing – forest green T-shirt and baggy jeans.

"'Morning," Sam noted.

Amy smiled as she flipped the bacon with a red plastic spatula. She took care of the food easily and turned her head back to Sam to reply, "Good morning. I thought you guys would sleep 'till noon."

"Well, when a cute little woman makes you breakfast, how can you refuse?" Sam chuckled. He walked around his friend and began to gather plates from the cupboard.

"Oh, this is for you and Dean. I've already eaten. I'm late," Amy explained quickly as she turned off the white oven and Sam took the role of putting the eggs and bacon on the two white plates.

"When does your class start?" Sam asked as he took a quick bite of bacon.

"Nine," she yawned and Amy finished her cup of coffee. "I need to get in early to prepare and everything. I should be back around ten-forty-five…elevenish…I told Ms. Forrester to be ready by one. We'll get her then and head to the hospital." She stole a piece of Sam's bacon and took a bite. "What do you guys plan on doing while I'm gone?"

"Research this further," Sam explained as he made his way to the fridge and took out a bottle of Simple Orange orange juice. "Astral projection seems to be the only thing making sense…but then again…none of the facts make sense. We'll see what we can find. I guess nothing can really help 'till we get to the hospital and see Isabella's body."

Amy nodded in agreement. "Okay. I'll go wake Dean."

"Thanks for breakfast," Sam mumbled through a mouth filled with scrambled eggs.

Amy grinned and tip-toed in her black heels and kissed her friend on the cheek. "Have a good day, darling," she joked.

"I will," Sam laughed back. "Now go wake the Beaver up."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

She rolled her eyes as she strolled in. Her brown-reddish hair curtained the side of her face as she quietly stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

The bed sheets were disheveled. His usual spiky hair remained uncombed and sloppy with some strands sticking hair. His arms were buried underneath the pillow while his head sank into it. He breathed gently as Amy approached the bed.

She couldn't help but smile. _Cute little guy…_she thought to herself. Amy came closer to the edge of the bed and stared down at the sleeping twenty-six-year-old.

Her hand went to shake his shoulder when suddenly his hand flew up and caught her wrist. Amy let out a small yelp as she was pulled onto the bed and Dean's arm wrapped around her waist. His eyes were still closed as he yawned.

Amy, laying beside him, laughed and shook her head. Dean, still in his "sleep" mode, murmured, "I'm a hunter. Can't sneak up on a hunter."

"Riiight," she crooned. She watched as Dean's eyes opened slowly. Amy whispered, "G'morning. I have to get going. I have class soon."

"Class?" he groaned. "Skip," he mumbled his solution.

"Sorry Winchester – this isn't high school," Amy laughed. "I'll be back in an hour-an-a-half…there's breakfast. I'll see you soon."

His grip grew tighter around her waist, Dean refusing to let Amy slide away.

"Dean," Amy laughed. "I have work to do. Remember, the students get spring break next week…c'mon…" She tried to pull away.

He used his other arm to wrap around her waist. Dean pulled Amy closer to him and her head was hovering above his.

"If you _really_ want to go, Professor Cromwell, you can," he gave her a sly smile.

Amy cocked her head playfully at him. She tucked the rogue strands of hair behind her hair as Dean reached his hand up and cupped her cheek. They smiled at one another as their faces moved closer. Lips met slowly as Dean held Amy closer to his chest. Their kissing grew more intense as her hand rested on his chest and Dean had both hands wrapped around her neck.

Amy knew she had to do the responsible thing – _one last kiss and off to work._ Instead, she continued to kiss the man beneath her.

Dean had his arms on her back down, still holding Amy close to him.

He moved his mouth from hers and slowly slid his lips down her neck.

Dean continued to kiss her…until a voice gasped: "Oh wow-"

In surprise, Amy's eyes opened and she noticed Isabella standing by the bed in an awkward-uncomfortable stance.

Dean was surprised too and when his head shot up, Amy jumped back and she suddenly rolled along the bed and fell off the edge. It took him a moment to realize that his girl was on the floor and Dean removed his stare from the comatose Isabella to Amy.

She touched her sore head as Amy slowly rose to the floor.

"Ah, sorry!" Isabella apologized quickly. She wore the same clothes, as usual. Her sweet, pretty face still pale as ever. She bit her lip sadly and continued, "Sorry! I just decided to pop in. Sorry…I really need to focus harder on where I drop in…"

"Ya think?" Dean snapped as he too got off the bed to help Amy up.

Flustered, Amy smiled weakly as she continued to rub the side of her head. "It's okay. Little bump. I've had more painful falls. Hi Isabella."

"Hi…" the young woman tried and waved her hand shyly.

"Umm," Amy started, "I'm just off to work. Be back at eleven. We'll get Ms. Forrester and head to the h-hospital."

"Oh, so you were off to _work_, huh?" Isabella gave Dean and Amy a Cheshire-cat-grin.

Amy narrowed her eyes at her friend and sighed.

"Hey," Dean rolled his eyes. "Do you mind – quit with the whole Reese Witherspoon thing."

Isabella motioned she was leaving. She gave one last sheepish look to the couple and pointed to her own mouth. "Uh, Dean…" she laughed. "You, uh, umm, really suck at applying lipstick."

Dean touched the side of his mouth and he didn't realize he had a bit of pink lip gloss on the corner of his mouth.

Giggling, Isabella waved again before walking straight through the wall and disappearing.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Sam used the spatula to cook some more eggs. He hadn't realized how hungry he was – he had eaten Dean's share. He flipped through the almost-cooked eggs and when Isabella suddenly walked through the kitchen counter, Sam suddenly flipped more eggs into the air and jumped back slightly.

"I really need to work on my entrance," Isabella noted as she noted the amount of eggs on the floor.

"Oh, hey," Sam breathed slowly. "Surprise entrances are always good."

"Not when I'm giving people heart attacks and ruining their eggs…" Isabella then smiled wryly. "And interrupting _intimate_ moments."

Sam looked at her questionably but pushed aside that question. "So, how are you?"

Isabella shrugged. "My family's okay. Sort of. My mom keeps having some major crying moments. Greg is doing his best to keep her calm. Vic's taking care of notifying all of my friends. My agent, Hunter Austin, showed up too. More family members. Sure is a great way to get a family reunion together…"

"And your dad?" Sam asked.

"Still no-show," she admitted sadly. Isabella then put on a bright smile and put her hands together. "So, when can we get started on figuring out what the hell is wrong with me?"

"Now," Sam suggested. "Amy will be off to work and Dean and I will research further. It's good you're here, we can ask you questions if we need to."

"Good I'm back?" Isabella questioned. "Gee, you missed me?"

She had the tone of one of those girls who had fun flirting. Sam wasn't surprised. She was a young, beautiful, wannabe-actress. This type of behavior was expected. It was good, though. It showed Isabella was trying to be a good sport and ignore the fact that she could walk through walls and only a select few could see her.

Sam remembered this type of thing in college. Sometimes girls were like that to him. Big, blinking eyes. Large, over-done smiles.

He smiled nicely at her as he went on cooking the rest of his eggs. Isabella smiled at him and took the time to watch him cook.

It wasn't long while Sam was flipping more eggs in the air when a shooting pain erupted in his skull.

The spatula fell onto the floor.

Isabella began screaming.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Dean and Amy heard Isabella's voice yell throughout the apartment.

"Sam…" Dean breathed as he took off out of the bedroom with Amy behind him.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

_Isabella was in the red car. It happened so quickly. She was driving. Listening to music. Drinking coffee._

_The pole. It all happened so quickly._

Sam had fallen onto his knees as he brought his fingers to his temple. The pain was not as bad as the visions had been before. But still…pain equaled pain.

He gritted his teeth together. His eyes were closed…but he could still see…

_Her body was unconscious in the car. But Isabella was somehow standing next to the vehicle. A look of frustration, confusion, and fear all mixed together, covered her face._

_There was another illusive figure. It had to be a figure. It looked more like a black cloud – in the shape of a human being. The shape was lurking over the car…staring down at unconscious Isabella…and then looking at her spirit standing outside of the car._

_Sam could feel the shape look at him suddenly. It had no eyes…but he knew that it was looking at him…_

Sam's eyes opened as he gasped for breath. The pain was drifting away slowly…

Dean was down on the floor with him. Sam stared into his brother's fearful face and looked up slowly to see Amy standing there with her hand over her mouth. Isabella stared down at Sam, looking fearful as well, whispering, "Surprise, surprise…"

O.O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Short update – I know! I just wanted to update a little to show you guys that I'm alive and back and can't wait to start really getting into the story. Hope you're all enjoying – reviews/commented really appreciated! And if someone can give me detail-by-detail what happened in "Something Wicked" or at least send me a link to a site that can give me a detailed episode recap that would be awesome! I would be in debt to you!


	6. Ch 6 x Nuisances

A/N: I'm sorry it's taken so long to update! I actually had Chapter Six ready to be updated, but once I started to reread it…I realized that it was really crappy and decided to delete the whole thing and start over. So FINALLY here it is. I've really been enjoying _Supernatural_ and its newest episodes!

Reviews/Comments appreciated – enjoy!

O.O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Six - Nuisances**

"Ya know what – _DAMN VISIONS_! DAMN THIS _ESP_ CRAP! DAMN IT ALL!" Amy threw her hands in a frustrated way as she watched poor Sam apply an ice pack to his head.

After several small white Tylenol pills, herbal tea, and the ice pack, Sam felt instant relief in his head.

Until Amy began to throw her tantrum.

"I mean…" she spat angrily but couldn't find the words to continue.

Sam, looking less miserable, stared up at her from the couch and smiled weakly. "I'm okay."

"_Ppp_lease," Dean asked as he came out of the kitchen with a glass of ice water. "Calm down."

"Calm down!" Amy laughed. "Are you kidding me! It's such a nuisance! Every time Sammy has one of these visions-"

"Sam…" Sam corrected underneath his breath.

Amy continued: "-He gets these killer headaches! One day his skull is just going to crack or something – if we ever get to meet that _certain_ someone who allowed people to be psychics – I'm gonna ram their head into the wall over and over and over and ov-"

Dean rested a hand on her shoulder as he gave his brother the glass of water. Sam took it slowly and once again tried to give a convincing smile to Amy that he was fine.

Isabella stood in the center of the living room with her arms crossed over her chest.

"So do all psychics have to deal with this?" she asked sadly, staring at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam explained poorly. "Well…at first anyway. Amy dealt with it too. She still does…sometimes…" He swallowed the ice water in greater gulps. "It's getting better, though."

"Well, you're not dead, so that's a good sign," Dean remarked. Sam nodded.

"This is _not_ funny," Amy crooned. "Have you guys even _tried_ to figure out what's going on with all of this? Have you spent the last four months just killing things?"

Sam and Dean both looked at each other like young boys who had accidentally broken a vase or something.

Amy put her hands on her hips and shook her head. "Visions…special feelings…the ability to _stretc_h your mind out…telekinesis…AND YOU HAVEN'T EVEN _CARED_ ABOUT INVESTIGATING THIS!"

The broken-vase look came back.

She rubbed her hands together and nodded to herself as if answering a mental question. "Okay. When we meet Ms. Forrester…maybe she can finally answer some questions. Now. What did you see?"

Sam felt three pairs of eyes on him. It was an awkward feeling. It felt like trying to describe a long foreign movie to them.

"I saw…" Sam narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember. "I saw Isabella's accident." He gave her a sad smile. "I saw you _in_ the car…and you standing _outside_ of the car…" He took a deep breath when he explained: "There was this _thing_…sitting on top of the car. A black figure. I could tell it was a person. Maybe. But it had arms and legs and a head and it was looking at Isabella's body in the car – and _out_ of the car…"

Isabella looked terrified. She took a step back, her legs going through the center table again.

"What was it?" Amy asked slowly.

Sam shrugged. "A spirit, maybe?"

"Grim?" Dean asked, remembering his own experience with the thing.

"No." Sam swallowed within his dry throat and drank more water. "I knew it wasn't the Grim. But…it was just there…looking down at Isabella's body…and her, well, _spirit_ I guess…"

"Does this make any sense?" Amy asked Isabella gently.

"Sense?" Isabella choked out. "_None_ of this makes sense! I should be dead or alive or at _least_ in my body but nooo – look at me!"

Amy watched her friend sadly as Isabella placed a nervous set of hands on her hips.

Dean turned back to his brother and asked, "Any other description?"

"Just a black, cloudy-type figure. A man-like blob. Or woman-like…" Sam tried.

"Gggreat," Dean rolled his eyes. "What's the use of these visions if they don't do a damn thing?" He scratched the back of his head.

"Okay," Amy thought. "Maybe research should be started a bit earlier this morning. We should go get Ms. Forrester now-"

"Amy…" Sam said firmly. "Dean and I will stay here and research. You need to get to work."

"Sam, I can't," Amy explained. "Not with you and Isabella like-…I can't just leave."

"You got in trouble once before for skipping work for this sort of thing…" Dean reminded. "Just go. You'll be back soon. We'll take care of things."

Amy wanted to protest but the look Dean gave her silenced her. She nodded slowly and turned to Sam and gave him a small half-grin. "Take care, kiddo. Okay? Help yourself to all the Tylenol and sleeping pills you want."

He laughed. Sam nodded and suggested, "Get to work."

Dean placed a comforting hand on her back and soothed, "It'll be okay. Now hurry up. Don't be late for school."

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean came out of the guestroom finishing buttoning up his navy shirt. He walked into the living room and spotted Sam on the pull-out bed, fully dressed, and typing-and-clicking away at the computer. Their father's journal sat beside him on the bed.

"Anything?" Dean asked.

"Not really…" Sam sighed. "More astral projection stuff. Nothing really matches my 'smoky-person' search. Maybe a spirit?"

"Maybe…" Dean thought. "It could have caused the accident. Maybe a gremlin – those little things like to cause a lot of trouble."

"Doesn't fit my black-figure vision," Sam thought. "Maybe a chaos demon of some sort. Every country has 'em. Maybe this one in particular causes car accidents."

"Demons do like to start one hell of a party…remember the phantom with the airplane?" Dean remembered – not only the demon but the terrifying experience in the plane. He shook off the fearful shiver and Dean noted, "We're never going on a plane again."

Sam scoffed and laughed and continued down his list of possibilities. "Still…whatever_ it_ is…we need to figure out why Isabella is not in her body."

"Maybe it's a double case of both chaos demon and astral projection," Dean suggested.

"Maybe…" Sam narrowed his eyes. "But why only a select few can see her? And psychics…most cases of real astral projection have been witnessed by non-psychics…"

Sam reached for his father's journal and flipped through a saved page. "Here…in 1912…there was this guy…Marvin…Marvin the Magnificent Magician…he claimed to be able to go to sleep and jump out of his body. People thought he was nuts…but then he would go to sleep and when he woke up…he could give really detailed information of what people did or what they were doing…

"Then one day…Marvin's body is found in bed…no one can wake him up…people think he's dead so they prepare a funeral…" Sam skimmed through and continued. "Marvin's niece, Elizabeth Rita, a twelve-year-old girl, claimed she could see her uncle and he was begging that the people do not bury his body. After the funeral…though…the little girl claimed that her uncle just disappeared…she was claimed just as insane as he apparently was…" Sam finished.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Elizabeth could have been psychic…"

"Maybe…" Sam shook his head. "And maybe Isabella did – in fear – jump out of her subconscious…I guess that's one thing we'll have to figure out later…"

"We need to focus on that thing you saw in the vision," Dean nodded. "Hey, where's Isabella?"

"On the balcony…"

"I think I'm gonna head out," Dean explained plainly. "Head to the local library. Check out archives. I want to see if this sort of thing has happened before – maybe find some related articles – after all, Illinois does seem to be a pretty good hot spot for this sort of thing to happen."

Sam nodded. "That's actually a good idea."

"You comin' with?" Dean asked as he pulled out the car keys from his pockets.

"Yeah," Sam sighed as he began to turn off the computer. "Let's tell Isabella."

Dean left Sam behind as he took it upon himself to tell Isabella they were leaving. The twenty-six-year-old expected to find the young woman sulking outside on the balcony, but found no one.

He poked his head outside and then back in the apartment. "Hey, she's not here."

Sam turned his head and his eyes looked around the whole apartment. "Isabella?" It was almost as if he were talking to the ceiling.

"Probably off checkin' on family," Dean reminded. "Leave a note. Lets go."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

_Amy & Isabella,_

_Off to find a library to research more on this case._

_We have our cells._

_-Sam and Dean_

"Question." Dean murmured as Sam closed the door to Amy's apartment behind them. The young twenty-two-year-old had the sleeves of his blue-checkered shirt rolled up since the weather seemed to be warming up a bit. Sam met his brother's gaze as Dean continued: "Why does your name get to go first?"

"What?" Sam laughed as he and Dean trotted down the steps of the building.

"The note, for Amy," Dean replied. "It said 'Sam and Dean'…your name went first."

"And?"

"Well…it's Batman and Robin…not Robin and Batman."

"Are you trying to say you're Batman and I'm Robin?"

"In a way."

"You're an idiot."

"Seriously," Dean explained as they made their way to the black Impala. "I'm the oldest. The cutest-"

"I'm taller and smarter," Sam remarked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm Batman."

"Like hell I'm Robin," Sam protested as he opened the car door.

"You look very cute in tights, though."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

Dean and Sam got into the car at the same time. Dean started the car while Sam laughed to himself and shook his head. "What kind of conversation were we having?"

The older brother shrugged and remarked, "Not sure. So, off to library?"

As the Chevy Impala took its way across the apartment parking lot, Metallica blasted through the speakers.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

_9:30 A.M…._

Amy sat in her office as she tore her eyes away from the digital clock on the corner of her desk. On the other corner of the cherry wood desk sat a small picture with a black frame. The photograph contained the image of three young teens: two sixteen-year-olds (Dean and Amy) and a young twelve-year-old (Sam). Dean had his arm casually around Amy's shoulder as her hand rested on Sam's shoulder – even then, Sam was taller than her.

She couldn't help but glance at the picture. Due to her recent blast to the past, Amy scrimmaged around her belongings and was able to find several old pictures and objects from her beloved past. A smile crossed her face as she studied the picture once more.

When she should have been in class, Amy was grateful that her student aid was monitoring the students while they wrote their timed essays. Amy had been able to get away to her own office to quickly get study guides already printed and prepared for the students.

She gathered up two different sets of folders when the door slowly opened and a familiar face popped in.

"Professor," Amy greeted warmly.

Professor Saton, skin still fair and hair still white, stepped inside as his glasses fell on the tip of his nose. He wore a comfortable milky white shirt and beige pants. The old man smiled and greeted in a fatherly-British accent: "Good day, my dear. How are you?"

"Alright," Amy admitted slowly. "Just gotta run off to class and get these study guides to the students."

"Oh, forgive me-" he was ready to apologize for interrupting her when Amy held her hand up to him.

"It's alright, Ian," Amy laughed. "I can spare a minute or ten for you."

The old man chuckled and sat down in the black leather seat before her. Amy rested the folders back down on the desk and rested her hands in her lap.

"What can I do for you?" Amy narrowed her eyes at her friend.

Professor Saton rested his hands in his lap and shifted his weight to make himself more comfortable.

"I feel I should give you warning about something…" he admitted secretly.

Interest grew within Amy. Did it have something to do with the new art professor in the school?

"Do tell…"

"There's a reporter coming to see you today-"

"Wait," Amy interrupted nicely. "My interview? That's not for another two weeks? That magazine-"

"Yes," Professor Saton smiled. "Apparently…the word down the grape vine is that the interview has been pushed a little ahead of time…"

"Great," Amy sighed. "I have friends in town. And a friend…in need…I don't have time for this-"

"There's more," the British man whispered. He was more serious now. "There have been a few interesting rumors going on about you lately…"

"Rumors?" Amy gasped. "What on earth?"

The professor leaned in close as if someone were listening through the closed door.

"Apparently there has been _one_ reporter who has taken an interest in you…" he explained softly. "Ever since the attack made on me on campus…and what happened at the pool last year…"

_Natiskawa_…

Amy shook her head and blinked several times. "I'm being investigated?"

_This has got to be a joke_…

He nodded. "Someone has taken an interest in you. Apparently they thought it was quite odd…and I didn't help either…I went to the hospital that night and told the police exactly what I heard from that man who attacked me and how he confessed about kidnapping children…but anyway…someone has made a connection and they've also learned a few other things about you…"

"Such as?" Amy inquired.

He almost looked guilty for a minute. "This reporter believes you have some type of _odd_ hobby…"

"Odd-"

"_Paranormal_…" Professor Saton whispered.

A heart attack. That must have been it. It explained the burning and redness in her cheeks and the small bead of sweat that appeared on her forehead. Her heart was racing…blood pumping…

"How do you know-" Amy asked but the professor intended to continue his confession.

"Forgive me Amy," Professor Saton sighed. "This reporter happens to be my nephew."

He felt incredibly guilty for some reason. Amy could feel this instantly. She felt sorry for him.

"It's okay…" Amy soothed. "Please…just, explain…"

"His name is Carter Lynn," Professor Saton explained. "Twenty-eight. Good-looking lad. Good head on his shoulders. His morals can get a little mixed up though…" He sighed and rubbed his hands together. "He came to me last week and asked many questions about you. I inquired why and he explained that he's been keeping tabs on you."

"Tabs!" Amy exclaimed.

He nodded sadly. "Forgive me, Amy…he's been doing a bit of dirty work to acquire the type of books you've been borrowing from the library. He's wondered why you've missed so many days from work…he…" The professor almost looked ashamed to admit it. "He told me he followed you somewhere…to some type of…psychic convention."

Amy rested her hand around the back of her neck. The "psychic convention" had been a large gathering of those who claimed to have some relation to ESP. She had attended that festivity in January.

"Wow…" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"I wanted to tell you…but he's family…but now I realize…" Professor Saton smiled weakly. "I just wanted you to know. And please be prepared. He can be…Carter has always been the Johnny-on-the-spot sort of person. He gets what he wants – and he wants a story. A _good _one."

"Thank you," Amy said warmly. "Thank you for telling me. No worries. I'll be ready."

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean and Sam were both sitting at a white table in the library. Several large books of past articles were placed before them as their eyes scanned various articles.

"Okay…." Dean murmured as he spoke into his cell phone. His eyes looked into the book but he was more focused on the conversation. "You're being investigated?"

Sam pulled his eyes away from the book and stared intently at his brother. He could hear Amy's voice mumble through the phone.

Dean nodded to himself and said, "Yeah. Don't worry. Okay…" He pulled aside a piece of paper and a pen and began to write something down. Sam noticed it was becoming an address.

"Alright. Give us a call and hopefully we can meet at the hospital together. Yeah…good luck," Dean laughed. "Alright, bye."

The conversation ended and Dean put the phone back in his pocket.

"Everything okay?" Sam asked.

The older brother sighed and said, "Some reporter has an interest in Amy – apparently he's figured out that she's into the whole supernatural-thing. She's a bit worried-"

"Obviously, her career is on the line."

"She's not worried about that," Dean explained as he went back to the book. "She just doesn't want another nuisance. She wants us to go see Ms. Forrester in half an hour or so. We'll probably meet her at the hospital."

Sam nodded. "Alright. I have a good feeling we're not going to learn anything interesting until we see that woman. Let's rap things up now."

Agreeing silently, Dean began to pile the books on one another. Sam did the same when he met eyes with Dean and asked, "Have you talked to Dad yet?"

There was a moment when Dean almost flinched. "Not yet Sammy."

"Sam," Sam corrected with a heavy sigh. "Anyway, do you think he's okay? We haven't talked since-"

"Sam, I know," Dean said quickly. "He's fine. Don't worry. We'll meet up again."

"I hope so…" Sam whispered as he finished gathering the books on the table.

Dean and Sam stood up together and gathered the books in their arms. Sam was about to walk around the table when he stopped in his steps.

Books fell to the floor and Sam was suddenly touching the sides of his temple.

_Not again…_Sam gritted his teeth and closed his eyes…

_He could see Isabella. But it wasn't her 'spirit' form. She was lying in a hospital bed. Her pretty face was still pale – she was still in the coma. _

_Two figures – Isabella's mother and step father – could be made out in the corner of the room talking to a doctor._

_But there was one figure standing beside Isabella…_

_The same black figure. It lingered over her and paced beside the bed. The creature or being made some type of hissing noise. It continued to pace beside Isabella's unconscious body until the thing stopped and looked directly at Sam._

_He realized he was standing in the room. No one else could see him. This was _his_ vision, after all. He was only meant to see this. But he was seen…by that black-cloudy figure…_

_The hissing the creature made increased and it became faster and louder. It was angry…_

Sam's eyes shot opened and he could feel Dean's strong arm around his shoulders to keep him balanced. Luckily Sam had not fallen onto his knees or collapsed. No one in the library even noticed what had happened.

There was pain, but not enough for Sam to want an ice pack. He rubbed his eyes and groaned slightly as he took in a fresh, deep breath.

Dean looked around and realized no one had seen what had just happened. He leaned closer toward Sam and asked, "You okay? What did you see?"

Sam gritted his teeth as he rubbed the side of his head. "Let's go see Ms. Forrester."

O.O.O.O.O.O.


	7. Ch 7 x Meet Grammy

**Chapter Seven – Meet Grammy**

_1130 Cobalt Avenue_

The '67 Chevy Impala pulled into the wide, curvy driveway of a large blue stucco house. Green and maroon vines were growing along the sides of the house and there were rose bushes lining the driveway and the gray porch.

Dean and Sam closed the car doors as they began to walk to the front door.

The house was nice – clean, white shutters, crystal windows, and a gray porch with a hard wooden floor. The Winchesters stepped onto the wooden panels and approached the white door with a gold door knocker.

Sam knocked on the door three times and took a step back as he stuck his hands into his pockets. He then rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, wanting to look presentable to an elderly woman.

Dean just stood there with his hands in his back pockets as he smacked gum loudly between his teeth.

The door slowly opened and a figure passed through the shadows. The house apparently didn't have much light during that time of day.

Ms. Forrester was a woman they had not expected. Amy hadn't given them many details about her; they had both imagined a frail old woman who ranted about the future.

She was probably in her late fifties and was in excellent shape. She wasn't that small nor did she crouch as she walked. There was no old mothball sweater or an oversized skirt, but the woman wore a fresh pair of jeans and a white T-shirt that had a picture of the American flag; the font on the shirt read: _Love It, or Leave It!_

"Ah, Sam and Dean, I presume," Ms. Forrester greeted as she stood before the door. She stepped aside and smiled warmly as the guys stepped inside.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam and Dean sat in a red leather couch of the living room. Each wall in the living room was painted a different shade of blue. There was a white table in the center of the room with a phone that had been splatter-painted.

The small tables in the corners of the room had various objects: crystal balls, incense, candles, different fabrics and coins from different cultures.

Ms. Forrester returned to the room carrying a tray with three glasses.

"Your home is very interesting," Sam noted and smiled sweetly at the old woman.

She smiled back as she placed the tray on the white table and sat down opposite them on a green-black rocking chair.

"My home represents myself," Ms. Forrester explained. She paused for effect and continued, "My home is out of the ordinary – as am I."

Dean nodded and cocked his head in a way to say: "I agree."

She clapped her hands together and Ms. Forrester said, "Well, before we get done to business. Lets get to know each other. You boys can call me Grammy."

"Grammy," Dean repeated.

"I'm not old, son," she laughed. "I'm just used to it. So please, call my Grammy." So, Grammy clapped her hands together and smiled. She had such a sweet face. It was a perfect circle with pure white hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had black chopsticks in her hair which really showed how white her hair was. Grammy had soft brown eyes and a small mouth – but with a large grin.

"I'm sorry Amy couldn't be here," Grammy sighed. "Poor girl."

"She can handle an over-zealous reporter," Sam explained.

"I completely agree, Sam," Grammy nodded. "Now…Amy has informed me that you seem to have an issue. Several, in fact."

"Well…" Dean looked at Sam and then back at Grammy. "Amy's friend – Isabella – was just in a car accident and she…well…sort of jumped _out_ of her body…"

Grammy waved her arms in the air and shook her head. "Ah! I hate long descriptions. Thus, I always hated _Jane Eyre_ and _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_." She rubbed her hands on her knees for a moment and then held each hand out to Sam and Dean.

Each brother stared at her hand for a moment and she smiled at them as if to say, "It's okay, I don't bite."

Sam and Dean each reached out their own hand and placed it into the hand of the older woman. They felt nothing by the contact, except soft, old skin.

Grammy was having a different reaction.

She closed her eyes and hummed to herself. Dean realized she was humming Zeppelin.

Her eyes opened and Grammy let their hands go slowly. "So, I see…"

"You see…" Dean asked.

"If Amy has not already told you," she murmured. "I am a palm reader. But not like those crazy cats who think they can tell the future just by lifelines. There's more to it then that. But yes, so I understand…this Isabella girl is caught in between planes. Too bad for her. I also understand, Sam, that you've been receiving a few difficult visions?"

Sam nodded. Dean leaned forward and asked, "Do you know what's happening to him?"

"Of course," Grammy laughed. "You know it too. This is part of your progression. Your psychic-growing. We all have difficult times with this sort of thing. My own gift didn't come to me until I was ten. I lost touch with it when I was about fifteen. And in my twenties it suddenly came back. Oh, don't worry Sam, I had my own share of headaches. Nose bleeds too. Not too bad. I even had a miscarriage because of it. But yes, anyway…explain what you've been seeing…what is it that has attached itself to this girl?"

"Umm," Sam gulped as he tried to focus back on the main problem of all of this. "This black figure…I'm not what it is…it _hisses_…"

"And it knows that you've been taking a few _peeks_ at this," Grammy nodded her head slowly. "Interesting. You boys should know I don't have much experience in the action-packed field of all of this. Demons and monsters and creatures of the night aren't my thing. But there is a problem here…Isabella is an innocent…poor thing…hmm…I agree with Amy…we're all useless – even you, Normal Boy" she glanced at Dean and winked, "but yes, none of us can do anything until we get to the hospital and see the girl's body."

"So, just by holding her hand you can figure out what happened to her?" Dean asked and raised an eyebrow.

"We'll see," Grammy sighed. "But if there's another force working at this, I may be _psychic_ally blocked. But we'll see. Sammy boy here seems to have many talents. Amy is very good with her _feelings_. And I'm quite good with my _hands_." Grammy smiled and bobbed her head. "So, anyone up for hotdogs before we go to the hospital?"

Dean and Sam looked at each other oddly.

"I think we're fine," Sam offered.

"Actually, I'll take two," Dean grinned.

Grammy nodded and stood up rather quickly. "Good, I'm starved. We'll eat and then we'll leave. Enjoy your waters – special herbal stuff."

O.O.O.O.O.

Isabella stood in the Waiting Room. Hospitals had never been her favorite places. The smell of clean rubber. Doctors and nurses always seemed to talk in that hushed tone loud enough for you to hear them speak but not loud enough to know what they were saying. Sometimes there were people crying. The faces of pitiful people. She hated that. She hated this. Especially since no one noticed she was even there.

Her mother was named Hero. An interesting name. Isabella's favorite name in the whole world. Her grandmother had been a great Shakespeare fan and decided to name her daughter Hero after the character in "Much Ado About Nothing." Isabella smiled at the memory of how much her grandmother and mother used to argue because Hero didn't name Isabella something like "Juliet" or "Ophelia."

Hero and Isabella shared the same face. Angular cheeks, pretty eyes and mouth. Both tall, thin women. Mrs. Hero Ingram sat in the Waiting Room with a tired face. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun and she wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a thin white sweater. She looked as if she had lacked sleep for months.

Greg came to sit next to his wife. Isabella watched from the corner as the tall man with sandy hair sat beside her mother and handed her a cup of coffee.

_Mom hates coffee…_Isabella thought sadly. _She drinks cappuccino._

Greg put his arm around Hero and the couple sat in a depressing silence. It made Isabella want to scream. There was no use screaming. And there was no reason of it. And most importantly there was no point.

She thought about Amy, Sam, and Dean. Isabella wondered if they would be able to help her or not.

Isabella looked back at her mom and Greg. Silence thickening. The walls felt like they were moving closer onto her. Isabella knew that if that were really happening, they would go through her anyway.

She closed her eyes and tried to feel something. Anything. But there was nothing.

Except sadness. Disappointment.

Regret.

_I never should have left you Mom…_

Hero suddenly started to cry. A normal routine, these days. Greg held her tight against his chest. Her sobs were lost in his gray polo shirt.

Isabella stood in the corner. Watching. Waiting.

Wishing.

But nothing else would happened.

She opened her eyes and mouth and let out a tremendous scream – a scream that, if heard, would cause a child to be deaf in an instant.

But no one heard her.

She continued to stand there. Screaming. Watching. Waiting.

Wishing.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Dean took it upon himself to cook the hot dogs on a grill in the backyard. There was a good amount of yard for a full family reunion bar-b-que.

The marble patio had different colored stones that caught Sam's attention. He sat in a comfortable black whicker chair that had been splatter painted before. Beside him sat Grammy who was in Indian-style in her own chair.

"'Love the outdoors…" Grammy sniffed the air. She took a good look at her perfect green grass and the trees that made a perfect oval lining at the border of the yard.

Sam nodded. "It's very relaxing."

Grammy closed her eyes. "Mmm…" She turned to Sam and said softly, "My husband and I used to sit here. The dogs would run around. And my dear Susan would be rolling in the grass with them. Good ol' days."

Sam smiled and asked, "Where's your husband now…and Susan…"

The old woman continued to smile as if everything were as right as rain. "Dear Ulysses passed away about ten years ago. Poor old man. Susan is thirty and has a husband and three children in Nevada."

"You must be proud," Sam tried, trying to ignore the fact that Grammy had just mentioned that her husband was dead. But the smile on her face confused Sam on whether or not she reacted emotionally to this.

"Oh yes, my lovely Susan," Grammy said dreamily. "Always a good girl. We haven't spoken in over ten years."

His eyes grew wide and Grammy laughed at Sam. "It's okay, son. Susan never did agree with my 'mental state'…"

"You mean-"

"Oh yes, she knew I was a psychic. A very powerful palm reader. One hand shake with one of her boyfriends and I could tell if they were a bad apple or not." Grammy laughed as if she were reliving some memory. "But Susan never agreed with me. When she could, she left Illinois and eventually cut off all connection with me. But it's alright. I understand her. At least she's happy."

"Are you?" Sam asked thoughtfully.

She merely shrugged. "I'm living. There's air in these lungs. I make a good amount of money too. And my friends are what keep me going. Even the very thought of Susan being a mother gives me enough joy to live five lifetimes. I'm in love with my life."

"Hot dogs almost ready!" Dean called from the grill.

Grammy peered over at Dean and whispered to Sam, "Your brother is a very stubborn person. Arrogant."

"Tell me something I don't know."

She laughed. "His heart is bigger than he shows. Strong-willed. Dedicated. A slacker, of course. But still…good-hearted man…just like you…just like your father…"

Sam turned to Grammy and raised his eyebrows. "You know something about our dad?"

"Only what my feelings tell me…and what my palm reading told me…" she sighed. "You and your brother worry far too much about that man. In my opinion, he'll always do the solo thing. But remember, it takes a longer, firmer grip to really get deep into those lifelines. Your father is a good man. You two have a few things to learn about him though."

"Grammy…" Sam asked softly. He pushed aside all thoughts of his father. "I need to know something."

"Yeah, kid?"

The twenty-two-year-old ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. His almond brown eyes met with the eyes of the old palm reader.

"My visions have…" Sam choked out the words, trying to chew out more. "I won't have a vision in months and then all of a sudden…I don't understand. They work so randomly." _Just ask her…_Sam shook his head and sighed. He spat it out slowly: "What's happening to me?"

Grammy nodded slowly as she stared sadly at Sam. "I'm going to admit something to you Sammy Boy…" she tilted her head and then said, "Sorry for the 'Sammy'…I understand you don't like that…" She laughed. "But there is something about you kid. I've never picked up a reading like that. Amy is a 'regular' on my Weird Scale. You…you're way up there kid. With Yoda and all them."

Sam was about to ask the question again when Grammy continued: "I'm not sure what's happening. You have a lot of power. I've actually never met anyone with various powers such as you. But there is something…something in the distance…almost…it's like a big label hanging right over you…"

_A label?_

Sam stared at her questionably and Grammy closed her eyes and sighed. She smiled again.

"Kid, that label is saying '_The Golden Boy is Right Here'…_"

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: I WILL UPDATE **AS SOON AS POSSIBLE** – AND _I PROMISE_ TO GIVE MORE EXCITING CHAPTERS! NOW WE CAN FINALLY GET INTO THE INVESTIGATION OF WHAT'S BEEN HAPPENING WITH ISABELLA AND THIS TOO-CURIOUS REPORTER IS GOING TO MAKE THINGS INTERESTING. HOPE YOU'RE ALL ENJOYING – **SORRY** IT'S TAKEN ME SO LONG TO UPDATE!

**_SUPERNATURAL_** ON TONIGHT!


	8. Ch 8 x Poor Isabella

**Chapter Eight – Poor Isabella**

Amy walked out of the auditorium as several students bid their farewell and skipped through the halls rejoicing their final art class before spring break. She looked a bit tired and Amy was grateful that class had ended so quickly. _Now that pesky interview…_There was no possibility of getting out of it. The dean of Northwestern had made it perfectly clear that Amy was to fulfill her promises and since she had received the teaching award last month she was obligated to take this In-Depth interview. Her eyes carefully scanned the halls as she noticed more students leaving their classes and off to join their companions. _I love Tuesdays…_Amy smiled to herself.

Her feet ached a bit from standing and going over study guides and power points with the students. Every time she got one of these aches, it reminded her of the question she had been asking for the last four years: Why choose art as a profession? Yes, she had loved art in high school but never had it become a possibility of a career choice. And here she was…one of the youngest professors in Northwestern history…

She turned to her office, proud to see her name in bold print on the glass. Amy opened the door and was prepared to relax in her desk chair when she found someone else in the room.

"Hello?" she couldn't help but reveal the slight fear in her voice. The figure of the man sitting in the chair before her desk had scared the hell out of her.

From the back, he had short brown hair and he wore a plain white T-shirt and a pair of black jeans. He didn't sit with very good posture and he slumped in his seat with one leg over the other. _A student?_

The person turned around and Amy found that this man looked a bit old to be a student. Yes, he was good-looking, as she had been told. Amy knew exactly who this was.

"Carter Lynn."

The man before her smiled as he stood up and gave her a kind smile. He didn't look the sinister type. He had an oval face with large brown eyes and a straight smile. There was a scar above his brow. He wore some type of henna necklace tight around his neck. He had a fair skin tone – Amy guessed he was usually pale but it just so happened he had gotten some sun a couple of days ago.

He was surprised that Amy had said his name and he held his hand out to her. "Aimes Cromwell," Carter greeted. "Yes, I'm Carter Lynn. Here for your interview."

Amy did her best to smile as if she were actually excited about him being there.

"Nice to meet you Carter," Amy shook his hand and then quickly dropped it. She walked around her desk and sat in her desk chair smoothly. She sat up and placed her hands in her lap as she crossed one leg over the other.

Carter sat back in his seat. "Forgive me for not dressing appropriately. I've been running around – taking care of a few things today – there was no time for propriety."

"I would expect nothing more," Amy grinned. She was trying to make it an obvious joke but the look in her eye made Carter raise an intrigued eyebrow at her.

"So," Carter grinned he pulled a small black voice recorder from his pocket and placed it on the table. "Congrats on your award. You received it last month, correct?"

"Yes, I was given the Honorary Teaching Award for Professors," Amy explained professionally.

"Amy – may I call you Amy – it must be quite an honor. You're twenty-six-years-old and more successful than your colleagues."

"I'm not more successful," Amy explained seriously.

Carter nodded. "Of course. And might I add…you are quite an attractive, young woman. Does your teaching at Northwestern affect your personal life?"

"Not at all," Amy smiled. "I spend my free time with friends and I enjoy it very much."

"What does a woman of your _stature_ do for free time?"

"Friends and I like to go to coffee shops. Book stores. Movies. Of course, shopping. I've recently started up a couple of karate and kickboxing classes. What can I say, I love life in Illinois."

"Sounds like the life," Carter winked. "You're from Kansas, right?"

Amy nodded. "Yes, I'm from Lawrence. I was born in New York but my family moved when I was about ten months old."

"Interesting," Carter grinned. "Kansas girl in the big city."

"I've enjoyed it very much."

"So, you've been teaching for three-four years now. Of course you're enjoying it," Carter noted. "What are other interests you have?"

"Can you be a bit more specific?"

"I guess this goes along with free time," Carter began to jot things down in a notebook he had sitting beneath him. He had the cap of the pen in his mouth for a while as he wrote and then he put his focus back on Amy.

"Sorry," Carter apologized. "Anyway…well…we'll save the free-time questions. Oh, okay, you're a twenty-six-year-old successful professor…most people your age are still trying to climb up that ladder. Do you intend on teaching forever?"

"As long as there's art in the world and people talk about it," Amy thought for a moment, "there's not a doubt in my mind that I'll still be around."

"Art is one of the many loves you have?"

"It's up on the top list," Amy smiled.

"Care to elaborate?"

Amy shrugged and sat back in her seat. "I'm a normal person. I love to go out and spend time with those I care about. I like to work out, do fun things…I thought the point of this interview was to congratulate me on my award and just ask a couple of questions about my life in the _university_?"

Carter smiled sheepishly. "Sorry…I can't stand that sort of thing. They're pathetic columns. I like to get the _In_-Depth on people. I want the people of Evanston to not just see the professor…they should see the woman."

"Interesting…" Amy confessed.

The man was about to ask another question when Amy's office phone rang. _Thank God…_Amy could feel what Carter was feeling…the reporter was quite anxious to get to his _own_ questions fast.

Amy reached over and lifted the black phone to her ear.

"This is Amy Cromwell," she answered into the phone. There was a slight pause and Carter sat back in his seat and relaxed.

"Amy," Dean told her on the line, "Isabella showed up here – at Grammy's – and she was having one of those feminine-'oh-god-I'm-invisible' tantrums. She wants to go to the hospital now and since we have nothing else to do, we're heading over there now…and Grammy definitely CAN'T see Isabella…she can _hear_ her…and she still doesn't even like that…"

"Oh okay," Amy stuttered back, trying to avoid eye contact with Carter. _I need to get to Evanston City Hospital…_ "Look, I'll leave now and meet you guys there, okay?"

Carter's ears perked up. He was staring intently at Amy.

Amy nodded to herself as she ended the conversation.

"Who was that?" Carter asked curiously.

She stared at Carter with an apologetic look. "Forgive me, Carter. Interview is going to have to wait. That was my boyfriend. I have to go…I have a dear friend in the hospital and well…the situation is difficult."

Carter watched as Amy gathered her purse and briefcase and was preparing to leave. He stood up and asked, "Is there a way I can get into contact with you to reschedule?" He almost had a bitter tone.

"You have my office number."

"I was hoping to get a cell number," Carter asked gently. "You know, in case I can't reach you here."

Amy's head shot up from gathering her things and she tilted her head to the side. "Sorry, Mr. Lynn, you're going to have to make do with an office number. Good bye."

She brushed pass him and held the door opened for him to exit.

Once the two were out of the office and the door locked, Amy walked away from Carter before giving him an abrupt handshake.

As she walked away, Carter stared after her with the voice recorder in his hand.

"See you, Kansas girl."

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Dean drove the Impala and even with the Zeppelin music he couldn't enjoy the ride.

Sam sat in the passenger seat with his forehead pressed against the glass.

Isabella sat in between the two. She had been talking non-stop since she showed up at Grammy's.

It had been an awkward entrance. Dean and Sam were both eating when they suddenly realized the young woman stood before them with her hands on her hips and she looked like she was going to scream.

For some odd reason, Grammy was unable to see Isabella. She could still hear Isabella, but she could not see her.

Sam knew it was his dead mother and Jessica who were responsible for the three of them to see Isabella in the first place; it confused him why Grammy wouldn't be allowed to see her either.

Grammy sat in the back admiring the scenery and the car itself.

"And they just sat there…crying…well, Mom was…Greg's too macho for that…and I kept screaming and they wouldn't listen…they couldn't listen…" Isabella rambled on.

She rolled her eyes and Grammy, from the back, put her hands up to the sides of her head.

Sam turned to Isabella in a comforting way. He wanted to place a hand on her shoulder and coax her that everything was okay…but his hand would go right through her.

"Isabella," Sam whispered gently. His tone got her attention. He had said it so sweetly Isabella had actually taken the time to "take a breath."

"It'll be okay," Sam reassured. "Dean and I have handled many cases like these. Things even more complicated…just relax…we'll get to the bottom of this."

"And what if you can't?" Isabella gasped. "I heard my mom the other day talking to my step-dad on whether or not I should be put on life support for the rest of my life. I told them when I left to California that if anything were to happen to me…like this…I don't want to be a vegetable-"

"They're not going to cut you off, dear," Grammy reassured. "It'll take more than two-and-a-half weeks to convince a parent to allow their child to rest in peace. Be patient. We're almost there."

Isabella sighed and shook her head. "What if it takes longer…and Mom actually does what I hope she doesn't do…"

"We'll convince them otherwise," Dean tried to be helpful, but the asperity in his tone was obvious. "Just sit tight."

"I can't," Isabella almost growled.

Dean widened his eyes in annoyance. _Just keep driving…_

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy stood before the entrance of the hospital. She paced the pavement a bit watching cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. Watching two ambulance cars speeding away sent chills down her spine. A part of her was worried. Nervous. Almost sick.

She could feel her stomach churn. Head spinning. She could get in her car, drive home, and make a lame excuse to Dean why she had to leave.

_Hospitals_…

Her eyes caught sight of the black muscle car turning swiftly into the parking lot. She could see three people in the front and one in the back.

_Just relax…and focus…everything will be okay…_

Dean got out of the car while Sam opened the back door for Grammy. She got out slowly and stretched her long arms in the air.

From afar, Amy smiled as her friends began to cross the parking lot and meet with her.

Isabella was walking at a slow pace and she seemed to be moping by Sam's side.

Dean approached Amy and placed a hand on her waist for a moment as he leaned down and met with her lips for a quick one. She smiled at him and Dean asked, "How was the interview?"

She shrugged: "Okay. We didn't get to the questions he wanted to get to. I have a bad feeling he's going to continue to approach me."

"Ah, Amy," Grammy greeted happily as she came to the young woman and put her hands around her shoulders as she hugged Amy.

Amy embraced the old woman back and closed her eyes. Amy and Grammy exchanged a look and each woman held hands for a moment.

"I haven't seen you in several days, dear," Grammy moped playfully. "Been busy with the normal stuff?"

"You know how it is…work, not-so-psychic friends…"

"Ah, what's that like?" Grammy laughed.

Isabella looked around at the group and asked, "Can we please get inside now?"

"Yeah, c'mon…" Sam sighed as he and Dean led the way. Isabella followed close behind.

Grammy turned to Amy quickly and whispered, "Are you _alright_, dear?"

Amy stared at Grammy, almost pale, and shook her head.

The old woman nodded her head slowly and squeezed Amy's hand. "It's okay, dear," she whispered comfortingly. "I know what you're afraid of seeing. Remember. Focus. And maybe _they_ won't bother you."

"I'm not worried about them coming up to me or bothering me, Gram," Amy whispered, noticing Sam was looking back and wondering why the two women were still outside. Dean and Isabella had already passed the glass doors.

"I'm afraid…of just seeing…" Amy gulped. "Just _seeing _makes me…"

"I know I know…" Grammy closed her eyes sadly. "But it's okay. Remember. Focus. This will be good practice for you… Be brave. Let's go."

Amy nodded slowly and, hand in hand, she and Grammy walked toward the entrance. The sliding glass doors moved automatically for them and they stepped inside.

Dean turned awkwardly when he noticed that Amy and Grammy had finally come inside.

"There you are," Dean sighed. "C'mon, we need to get to the fifth floor."

"Room 23A," Isabella added.

"Alrighty, let's go," Grammy added enthusiastically.

Sam turned to a nearby elevator and pressed the UP button. The four (well, five) waited patiently and when the doors opened two doctors came out with warm smiles and Dean, Sam, Amy, Grammy and Isabella had the elevator to themselves.

O.O.O.O.O.

Hero stood outside of her daughter's hospital room. Isabella's condition had not changed. She rested in bed flat on her back with a small white pillow beneath her head. They had one of those frosty blue breathing tubes in her mouth and other tubes going through her nose. The respirator beside the bed hadn't changed at all since Isabella arrived.

Her black hair looked so thin. The strands had been tucked beneath her head but some rested beside her face on the pillow. Isabella looked so peaceful. So calm.

_So dead_…

"Stop that," Hero told herself aloud. _My daughter is NOT going to die…_

There was a man sitting in the room with Isabella. Hero watched through the glass as the young man read the newspaper to her. Vic looked too young for his age – twenty-eight – he had boyish blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He wore a blue T-shirt and raggedy jeans and sat comfortably in one of the hospital chairs. His voice was soothing. Isabella always said that. That's why it was his job to read to Isabella – keep her update on what was happening.

Hero sighed and hugged herself. The hospital seemed colder.

O.O.O.O.O.

They all walked out of the elevator at the same pace.

Except Amy.

She lingered for a moment and became brave enough to let Grammy's hand go.

Her eyes looked around the hospital.

Dean and Sam walked side-by-side with Isabella leading the way. They walked down a long white corridor and passed a waiting room. There were only six or seven people there, either there to see loved ones or there to see a doctor.

There were two nurses in the hall talking and a doctor passing the group by a hall.

So far they had seen less than fifteen people in the hospital building.

Amy counted thirty.

O.O.O.O.O.

Greg came to his wife's side and brought her a small cup of yogurt.

Hero brushed it aside and cringed. "Not hungry."

Her husband stared at her firmly and said, "You should eat. When Isabella wakes up, I don't want her to think you were sick too."

"Hun, I'm fine," Hero reassured weakly. Her eyes never left her daughter.

O.O.O.O.O.

The Dead like to linger. Sometimes death can be so tragic that the victims have absolutely no idea of what has happened. They continue to think they're alive. It is a fact that if spirits don't have a clue that they're dead, they tend to stay in the same place they died.

Doctors never realize how full their hospitals can be.

Amy had learned so much after the Natiskawa incident. What she had seen on the other side and what she learned from Mary and Jessica brought her to this sort of place. It didn't take long for the professor to understand why certain things happened.

She had gone to the funeral for that little girl Zoë Brooks. She had been one of the Natiskawa victims.

The funeral had been very nice. It had been a quiet day. Amy had not attended the church service but was at the graveyard when people began to arrive.

White roses. There had been so many of them. Amy could count more than a hundred white roses placed on the small coffin.

People even threw in white roses into the ground before the coffin had been lowered.

White petals flew in the breeze and Amy had seen some brush by her boots.

Amy thought she would have seen little Zoë, like she had seen her that one day in her classroom. Zoë wasn't there.

But so many others were.

The Dead are interested in people. They think they can talk to them.

Sunken eyes. Green, rotting flesh. Teeth missing. Sometimes an arm or a leg would be missing, even an eye. They would smile hideously at her. Their voices sounded like rasps. These people had no idea. No clue.

Amy had left the graveyard in a rush and had gone home to drink herself to sleep…

She walked down the hospital hallway and tried to avoid the eyes.

There was a little girl leaning against the wall. She wore a dirty flower dress. Blood-stained. Amy couldn't help but look at her. When the girl turned her head to stare at Amy, the young woman realized that half of the little girl's face had been torn off. Blood. Flesh. Tissue. Bone.

The sick feeling returned with a vengeance.

Amy quickened her pace and ignored the little girl's voice when she said, "_Don't run in a hospital_."

She joined Dean and Sam's sides and wrapped her arm around Dean's. He was surprised by this but allowed for her to grip his arm. Dean knew she hated hospitals. Especially after Natiskawa killed that little girl.

Sam couldn't help but notice. Dean didn't realize that as Amy had her arm around his, she had her eyes closed shut.

He stared at her oddly and then turned around to Grammy who gave him a look that seemed to explain everything.

O.O.O.O.O.

Greg had his arm around Hero as the couple continued to stare through the glass. Vic decided it would be a good idea to read Isabella the comics. The twenty-eight-year-old would laugh to himself a couple of times and would continue reading.

The couple didn't notice the small group that was advancing upon them.

Isabella, beside Sam, pointed and said, "That's my mother: Hero, and my step-dad: Greg."

Amy, a bit more calm now, approached the couple and Hero and Greg turned to her, sensing her presence.

"Hello," Amy greeted warmly. "My name is Amy Cromwell. I'm a professor at Northwestern University. I'm a friend of your daughter's-"

"Oh," Hero's eyes widened and she smiled. "Professor Cromwell. You teach art, correct?"

"Yes," Amy smiled slowly. "I taught your daughter her first year. I heard about her accident, I'm very sorry."

Hero touched her teeth and nodded.

"Has there been any improvement?" Amy asked.

Greg sighed and shook his head. "No, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Hero murmured, "this is my husband Greg Lambert."

"It's very nice to meet the two of you," Amy replied kindly. She turned to her friends behind her and introduced: "This is my friend Sam and his brother Dean. And-"

"I'm Amy's grandmother, please call me Grammy," Grammy held her hand out to Hero and she shook it slowly.

Sam held his hand out to Hero and Greg who each shook it.

Hero eyed Dean and Sam and asked, "Are you friends of Izzy's?"

Dean shook his head and replied, "We've never met. Is it Mrs. _Jamison_?"

"Oh no, it's Lambert," Hero explained. "Isabella wanted to keep her father's name."

"Well, Mrs. Lambert," Dean explained seriously. "My brother Sam and I are sort of in the investigation business."

"We understand that Isabella's accident is somewhat of a mystery?" Sam added.

Hero nodded. "Police have told us that the car was damaged beyond repair. They have no way of deciphering a reason why the car crashed."

Isabella interjected loudly: "Tell them I would never crash the car – tell them I'm not suicidal – a police told them that there had been a possibility-"

"I'm sure there had to be something wrong," Amy reassured. "I've heard some stories and I KNOW Isabella would never have purposely crashed that car."

Hero sighed and smiled. Tears seemed to be forming. "Thank you…" she breathed. "We've…I can't believe it myself. But some…some are wondering how on earth it could have happened…and Isabella…now she's in this coma and-"

"We have absolutely no idea what happened and what's happening," Greg added sadly. "I love Isabella very much and I'd like to get to the bottom of this."

"Forgive me," Amy interrupted, "you two don't look like you've slept well."

"No," Greg chuckled weakly. "We've been here day and night looking after her when we can."

"If you don't mind," Amy asked, "I'd like to spend some time with Isabella, if that's alright. You two should get something cold to drink or at least go home for some rest."

"I don't know," Hero whispered worriedly. "I'd like to stay-"

"Dear, I like the idea," Greg added. "Please…we haven't had a good night's rest in two weeks…Amy is a friend…" Greg turned his attention to Amy. "Izzy told us a lot about you. She really respects you. She enjoyed your class very much. I have no problem with you visiting her."

Greg turned back to his wife and coaxed, "Lets get some tea from the cafeteria and then I'm taking you home to rest."

He seemed eager and almost excited that someone close to Isabella other than family was willing to stay with her a bit.

Hero turned to Amy and smiled slowly.

"Please, stay as long as you want," Hero smiled slowly.

Amy nodded and said, "Thank you. I'd like to visit more often, if that would be okay."

"Of course," Greg added. He turned his head into the hospital room and called: "Vic!"

The step-brother emerged from the room slowly and that was the first time Dean, Amy, and Sam noticed Isabella's body in the room.

"This is my son, Vic," Greg introduced. "Vic, this is one of Izzy's old professors. Well, not exactly old." He laughed.

Vic held his hand out to Amy and shook it slowly. "It's nice meeting you."

"They're visiting Isabella bit," Greg explained. "Let's get them their own time with her. Let's go home and get some rest."

Vic nodded tiredly and turned to Amy. He nodded slowly toward her and then he walked pass them.

Sam and Dean stared oddly after Vic but then they watched as Hero and Greg silently walked away. Hero was a nice woman and she waved as the couple turned the corner of the corridor and disappeared.

Grammy and Amy entered the hospital room. Isabella stood beside her body.

"Here I am…" Isabella stared sadly down at her unconscious self.

Amy and Grammy walked on opposite sides of the bed. They stared down sadly at Isabella and Grammy sat down slowly in a chair close to the bed.

"Amy, Sam…" Grammy whispered as she looked intently on Isabella.

Sam and Amy turned to Grammy and she whispered, "Place a hand on Isabella. Lets see if we can get some super-psychic reaction from her.

Sam walked around the bed and joined Amy.

Grammy slowly slid her hand in Isabella's hand. Amy held her other hand while Sam placed a hand on her arm. She felt a bit cold.

Isabella and Dean stood side by side in front of the bed.

Grammy had her eyes closed as she wrapped both of her hands around Isabella's.

Amy and Sam both concentrated as they touched the comatose body.

Moments passed before Isabella asked silently, "What's happening?"

Grammy, hands still gripping Isabella's hand, looked up and stared at Sam and Amy. "Are you two seeing or feeling anything."

Sam looked up at Isabella and stared at her sadly. He looked down at the arm he was touching and pulled his hand away slowly. "I'm sorry…I'm not getting anything."

"Amy?" Grammy asked.

Amy widened her eyes for a moment. "Umm…uh…" she tried slowly and kept her hand around Isabella's hand. "The feelings…" she stared and then gulped. "It's very strange. It's not a sick feeling…almost uncomfortable. Like a roller coaster ride. I don't understand it…"

"What are you sensing?" Dean asked Grammy.

The old woman looked around at the three and then her eyes focused on the unconscious girl on the bed. Then Grammy looked up at Isabella who seemed to be waiting for a good answer.

"There's a barrier," Grammy explained. "Very strong."

"A barrier?" Isabella asked.

Grammy nodded. "Dear, I can see your life…I could see the deeper details if I wanted to…but I'm trying to concentrate on what happened two weeks ago…"

"And?" Dean asked.

The old woman sighed sadly and explained: "I can see nothing involving the car accident. But there's this feeling…similar to Amy's…but apparently mine is a bit stronger."

Sam looked at her strangely and asked, "What do you mean?"

"I feel…" Grammy whispered slowly as she concentrated for a moment. "It's dark…something powerful…I can't break through. It's like…there's this brick wall…I can't see pass it…but there is this feeling…I'm not sure I can explain it." Grammy's eyes met with Amy's.

Amy sighed and stared down at Isabella's body.

The room grew quiet. Tense. Still.

Isabella stood in front of the bed and stared down at her own body.

"It's evil…" Amy finally gasped. Everyone in the room looked at her. Amy nodded as if she were finalizing it in her head. "I have to trust my gut…it's dark…strong…powerful…evil…someone or something is doing this to her."

Everyone exchanged a glance and stared at everyone.

"What now?" Isabella asked hopefully.

Sam sighed and stared at Dean. The two brothers were quiet.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Will update ASAP!

I really liked "Dead Man's Blood" and now I'm excited that John Winchester is back into the whole thing. The whole family thing was very touching – Sam and Dean are so cute when it comes to their dad and family. I really liked the episode – although I didn't really enjoy that one scene with the vampires and the whole wrist-slicing thing – I mean "EEK!".


	9. Ch 9 x Darkness

**Chapter Nine – Darkness**

Daryl Greene slammed the door shut of an old '60s Beetle. He cursed at the damned old car as he held a full brown bag in his arms and dangled his keys around his fingers. He was a very tall man but hunched whenever he walked. His skin looked burned and dry and his eyes were quite pale. His arms revealed past scars and burns and the thirty-something-year-old man walked up the garbage-infested pavement of his driveway before entering a small house that was painted green. The paint had been chipped and no flowers grew in the area, so Daryl liked to call his home "The Land of All Great Dumps."

No one could possibly live in this type of area. Except for Daryl Greene. He liked it, actually. The neighborhood was quiet and there were no children. The only people who lived on the street were druggies or ex-cons and child molesters. Daryl Greene had no need for material things. He didn't care that he drove a crappy car and lived in a house where his only companions were the dozens of cockroaches hiding beneath his bed.

The beige door squeaked opened as he stepped upon the threshold of The Land of All Great Dumps and closed the door slowly behind him.

He made his way down a narrow hallway that eventually introduced a living room with a broken couch and a television set that Daryl could only watch three channels.

The carpet was pink. A bright, happy pink that reminded you of cotton candy or something rather.

The brown bag was placed carefully on the floor. The man had not come home back from a grocery trip.

The walls were covered in strange symbols. There was a Latin verse written along the ceiling all around the house. The small gray kitchen itself had its white tile floors covered in different symbols.

Daryl reached into the bag and stood up slowly and smiled down at the small vile in his hand.

He opened the glass vile and threw the cork down on the ground. He first removed the blue jacket from his broad shoulders and stared down at the vile. He poured the sand from within into his palm and then threw it over his head. Once that was down, he poured more of the white sand into his hand and threw it around the pink carpet. It looked like snow.

As the man put the vile down on the kitchen counter, he clapped his hands together and couldn't help but glance at the dozens of tattoos along his arms.

He turned around and felt his heart stop.

The house was filled with light – mostly because Daryl didn't like curtains so the sun came in whenever it wanted to.

There was one corner of the house that was covered in darkness.

The figure was hidden within the shadows. Daryl placed a hand on his chest as he gasped: "Good Lord. Don't scare me like that."

The figure replied with silence.

Daryl sighed and said, "I've been watching the news. There was one little report about the girl. Glad I could be of help."

No response.

"Ummm…" Daryl grew nervous. His client said nothing.

"Cash was good…I can buy the necessary viles and herbs I need for the next five or six months…" he explained.

No response from the dark figure.

"Look…" Daryl snapped, but there was a hint of fear in his voice. "I'm sorry you're not getting the reaction you wanted. I did exactly what you wanted…the car accident…the girl…sorry, but this is a complicated sort of thing…normal people usually don't do what I do…so I did the best I could…I am an expert in this field."

It was like he was talking to himself.

Daryl gritted his teeth together. "You're not getting your money back, if that's what you want." He spat at him angrily and put his hands on his waste. "I only did this favor because you were willing to pay the price. And I needed the money."

The figure remained in its seat.

And Daryl Greene was now looking at a black gun being pointed at him – what was more horrifying was that the gun had a silencer.

"Look…" beads of sweat were growing on in his face. "I have a kid in college. She hates my guts, but she needs the cash…_please_…" _God, please, no…_ "You need me! Remember!" Daryl shouted. "You can't handle this on your own! You're just an amateur. The forces you're meddling with-"

Like a coin being thrown against the wall, the bullet was released with a small sound and a hole was made in Daryl Greene's chest.

The man fell dead to the floor – his tattoos, charms, and viles unable to save him.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam's hand moved quickly away from Isabella's arm. He had spent the half hour with his hand wrapped around her wrist. Grammy had suggested that, since Sam was the "stronger" psychic, he would be more capable of getting some type of clue than she or Amy.

Grammy and Amy spoke quietly outside as Dean sat in the hospital room against the wall with his eyes scanning their father's journal.

No one noticed what had just happened. Sam had his hand around Isabella's wrist and then there had been a brief flash. No vision. Some sort of flash. He saw a man for a moment and…pink carpet?

_Dammit…_Sam closed his eyes in frustration. _Why can't these things be clear…_

Sam questioned whether or not he had really seen something. He had been in the hospital room with Isabella for thirty minutes. He could have imagined it. But the feeling…

_A man…pink carpet…this doesn't make sense…_

He looked up and noticed Grammy and Amy were now talking with someone.

"Dean…" Sam called and motioned to the glass window that peered into the hallway.

The brothers turned and watched as a young officer talked with Amy and Grammy.

"Let's see what's going on," Dean kept the journal close to him and he and Sam stepped out of the room for a moment.

Amy was laughing and Dean and Sam stared oddly at the three.

"Dean, Sam," Amy smiled.

The officer, in his blue-black uniform, turned and greeted Dean and Sam with a half-smile.

"This is my friend, Blake Evans, Blake…this is Sam and Dean. They're very good friends of mine."

Blake held his hand out and shook each of their hands. He had black hair and light-colored brown eyes; a small smile and strong cheekbones.

"I understand you share a concern about Isabella Jamison?" Blake asked. "Amy has asked that I look into this personally. I can get a referral and check things out. You two cops?"

Dean nodded and said, "From Kansas. We came to visit Amy and this happened…we feel there's more to it…I'm her boy friend, by the way…"

Blake smiled and nodded. "I understand that."

Sam couldn't help but scoff at Dean in a laughable manner.

"So…" Dean eyed Blake. "How do you know Amy?"

"Don't you remember?" Amy asked. "Blake was one of the officers who was at the pool…the night with that madman…"

_Natiskawa_…

"Oh," Sam nodded.

"Yeah," Blake replied. "Interesting night. I had a few questions for Amy. But yes…she's contacted me again asking for a little help on the inside."

"Can you?" Grammy asked, staring at the attractive man. "Is that in your jurisdiction?"

"I'll do what I can, this is still an unsolved case…we have a detective or two who feel this was some sort of a personal attack, actually," Blake explained. "And I may be involved soon enough."

"How, exactly?" Sam asked.

Blake sighed. "Someone leaked the story and now a bunch of magazines and some newspaper reporters have an interest in this. I don't want to notify her family yet. I'm afraid things may get crazy here soon…"

"Why is it bad that people know Isabella's story?" Amy inquired.

"Unfortunately," Blake explained regrettably, "there's a rumor out that this was some sort of suicide-gone-wrong…plus Isabella is a young actress in Los Angeles…so…"

"Great," Dean rolled his eyes. "Paparazzi."

"Gee," Isabella appeared out of thin air again. She had left to check on her parents in the hospital cafeteria. She appeared directly beside Dean so he jumped slightly at the sight-and-sound of her.

Blake gave Dean an odd look.

"I didn't think I was that famous yet," Isabella commented, eyeing the police officer.

"Well, he's a cutie," Isabella remarked.

"So, where do we start?" Amy asked Blake hopefully.

The young officer shrugged and said, "Ears clear. Eyes open. I got some of the boys at the station doing the best they can to get a confirmation in case something was wrong with the car before it crashed – there could be a lawsuit as well – and from there…unless we have any sort of lead…nothing now."

"Nothing!" Isabella shouted. Again, Dean reacted, since she stood close beside him and Dean couldn't help but stick a finger in his ear.

"Dammit," Dean grumbled, recovering from Isabella's shout.

"Pardon?" Blake asked.

"Oh, nothing," Sam jumped in quickly. He eyed Isabella and motioned for her to be quiet. "There's nothing we can do in the meantime?" _At least anything normal…_

Blake shook his head. "I'm going to speak with Isabella's doctor. Maybe ask her parents a few questions." He turned to Amy and said gently, "If you need my help, give me a call…and if I find anything, I'll notify you."

"Thank you Blake," Amy gave him a serious, thankful look. The officer nodded toward Dean and Sam and then said bye to Grammy and left.

Amy sighed and shook her head. "Man, we're really in the dark here."

"It's okay, honey," Grammy comforted.

"So," Dean asked Amy, "why is it Officer Blake seems to be eager to help you."

Amy understood the tone. She laughed and said, "We first met with the whole Natiskawa thing. And I helped him with a certain case…"

"You helped the police out?" Sam asked. "You mean like…psychic help?"

Amy confirmed with a giddy nod. "Patricia Arquette got nothing on me." She laughed. She stared at Dean and explained, "It's not a big deal, trust me. Blake owes me."

Grammy crossed her arms over her chest and asked, "Well kids, I'm not sure what we do now."

Everyone (except Grammy) could not help but stare at Isabella sadly – as if they had failed her.

Isabella met their eyes and said, "Stop looking at me like that." She bit her upper lip. "I know you guys will figure something out…"

Sam gave her a hopeful smile. A smile that would usually calm even the most tense of spirits. But the look in his eyes gave away the idea that maybe this case would be different…

"It'll be okay…" Isabella assured bravely. "It'll be okay…"

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Update ASAP! Thanks for all of the reviews/comments…MORE would definitely be appreciated!


	10. AUTHORS NOTE SORRY!

**SORRY! **

**Apologies to everyone. I haven't updated in 2 months? I've had different issues revolving around school and some personal matters. Please forgive me and I hope you will remain patient. I've missed writing and I intend to update a new chapter by the end of the week. My life is very hectic, I hope you all understand, but I love writing and I love "Supernatural" so I will return to "That Ol' Black Magic" this week. Thank you all for your messages – I received them late, sorry – but I actually haven't had much computer access. Please keep an eye out for further updates – I'll do my best to fast about it!**


	11. Ch 10 x Puzzle Piece

A/N: Sorry for the long wait.

**Chapter Ten – Puzzle Piece**

She looked so peaceful. If it weren't for the different hospital wires and machines, Sam could almost picture Isabella like Snow White. Black hair and fair white skin. His stomach churned inside to stare at her through the glass window. Hospitals weren't exactly his favorite places to visit, especially when he had some connection to a patient. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed helplessly. She was an innocent and twenty-four hours had already passed without Sam nor his brother finding any sort of clue to lead the cause of all this. Poor Isabella Jamison. A girl who just wanted to see her family. Someone who wanted to pursue a happy, _normal_ life.

Her body barely moved. Isabella's body made centimeters-worth of movement. Tiny, ant-size breaths. Why was she so pale? He hated that. That churning, sick feeling in Sam's stomach grew stronger. He knew there was something evil involved. Grammy and Amy had both felt it. Why couldn't he? He had touched Isabella and felt warm, smooth skin. Guilt and anger grew within himself. Why couldn't he be stronger than this? He had various abilities – Grammy knew this too – and he had no control over any of it. Amy did. Grammy did. Why not him?

Feeling a small hand on his arm, Sam turned and looked down at the old woman. Grammy smiled, passing Sam a cup of hot coffee, and the two continued to stare through the glass at the comatose female.

"You handle a lot of stuff like this, kid?"

Sam nodded. He pursed his lips together, sighing, and took a sip of the hospital coffee.

"Well, you seem to succeed in all that you do…" Grammy smiled warmly. "There's no reason for why this should be different."

He didn't show much of a reaction. Sam replied: "I've never really thought about our past cases as a success. No matter what, people have died. Suffered. And Isabella…if we even can figure this out…" Sam turned away from the image of Isabella's unmoving body and looked at Grammy. "It's never a success. We just kill the damn things."

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean rubbed his tired cheek and slumped into the hospital seat. In the Waiting Room, Dean looked around and noted some of the people there. Kids coughing, older people staring at empty prescription bottles, and couples looking at their wife or girlfriend's bellies.

He looked up when he spotted his favorite brunette-red head. Amy, just as tired, sat beside him. She sat with perfect posture while Dean appeared to be experiencing a horrible, boring lecture back in high school.

She turned to him slowly and Amy leaned over to rest her head on his shoulder. Dean felt the need to sit up a bit, so he did, and allowed the woman to rest comfortably beside him. He even put his arm around her and massaged her arm gently. She was so tense. Even scared? She had been so stiff since the moment they entered the hospital. Why? After the little girl, Zoë Brooks, was killed, Dean knew Amy hated hospitals. But still. Why was she so afraid? She seemed to attach herself to Dean, even Sam, when she got nervous around the hallways.

Squeezing her arm in a playful way, Dean leaned his chin down and kissed the top of her head. _This is what a real relationship is like, huh, _he thought to himself.

Dean found she was closing her eyes, but smiling. _She's just tired. _He kept his arm around her still, running his hand up and down her arm, feeling her body to relax a bit more. But he could still sense her fear.

O.O.O.O.O.

_I want to tell you so bad. I'm so glad you hold me the way you do. It's different when I'm with you. I feel more protected. Safer, in a way. But it doesn't change things. I see them. They see me._

Amy kept her eyes close. She had to keep them opened when she walked over, sat down, and placed her head on his shoulder. She could barely take it anymore. Talking to Sam, Grammy, Isabella, even Officer Evans had been difficult.

_They keep trying to talk. They know I can see. Why? How? I hate this. I want to tell you so much. _

But she knew she couldn't. Mary and Jessica were right. Even Sam, who had always been the headstrong one, had tried once or twice to take advantage of Amy's power to _see_. And Dean, who in a way is mentally weaker than Sam, would never stop trying to talk to his dead mother.

_I know you're strong. But they told me not to tell you. It's bad enough that Sam knows. I want you to know so bad. I don't want to lie. Not anymore. But I have to keep my promise._

She felt him kiss the top of her head. Amy tried to relax more. It felt wonderful to be held by him.

_You have no idea how much I need you. I know that I have you, and that you're here to take care of me whenever I need it. But with keeping this secret from you…with being dishonest…it makes me feel as if I can't give you all of me. I'm not even sure what that means. But I need you so much. I don't know what to do._

_Hold me tighter._

O.O.O.O.O.

Grammy was in the room with Isabella's body. Her hand gripped softly around Isabella's wrist. Sam watched, through the glass, hoping and praying that more could be learned of this. He turned when Sam saw the reflection of Blake Evans rushing pass.

"Officer?" Sam called, turning to the frantic police officer.

Blake turned quickly, taking in deep breaths, and explained: "Sorry, I gotta go. There's been a murder-"

At this, Sam felt a numb, almost cold feeling, shoot through him. Suddenly, a vision came…

_The man, dead, on the pink carpet…blood…_

Sam opened his eyes and stared back at the confused officer. Blake tilted his head at the young man and asked, "You okay?"

Not sure of what to say, Sam nodded, and watched as the officer took off down the hallway.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam and Grammy were both running down the hall when they found Amy and Dean in the Waiting Room. Dean looked up, and nudged Amy. The two shot up when they realized something big had happened. Sam was breathing deeply and when the four stood together, Grammy explained: "Sam had a vision."

"Of what, Isabella?" Amy asked softly.

He shook his head. Sam said, "I had two visions – both of them involving a dead guy. Your friend Blake was running by, said there had been a murder, and I had the second vision. It might be tied in with Isabella."

"Let's go," Dean said in a hurry, "we need to catch up with Blake."

"I'll stay here," Grammy offered, "stay with Isabella."

Sam nodded and he, with Amy and Dean, took off down the hallway together. Grammy placed a hand over her mouth slowly, closing her eyes, and praying _God be with them._

O.O.O.O.O.

There were four cop cars and an ambulance parked outside of Daryl Greene's house. Officer Blake Evans spoke with two other officers and was surprised to see another car pull up beside the sidewalk. It was difficult enough to get bystanders back into their homes, but now Blake noticed three figures emerge from the dark gray-black vehicle and approach the house. This was the part for him to approach the people and tell them to be on their way when he noticed Amy and her friends.

"Excuse me," Blake said to his colleagues and quickly made his way across the grass.

Dean, Sam, and Amy came toward Blake with the officer asking, "What the hell are you doing here?"

Dean and Sam, in unison, opened their jackets to reveal two (fake) police badges.

"We picked up something on a murder. We feel it may be related to Isabella Jamison's accident," Dean explained strictly.

Blake narrowed his eyes and asked, "How did you pick this up – and how, may I ask – do you figure this is tied in with the Jamison accident?"

"Blake, please," Amy asked, feeling herself grow nervous. "Let us check the place out. You can trust me. Let us go inside."

Looking carefully at Dean and Sam, Blake nodded slowly and escorted the three up the driveway and toward the house. Dean and Sam, confused at how Blake would let Amy through, followed silently until they came to the front door.

O.O.O.O.O.

The man was lying on his back. Chest and hands were bloody. Untidy face now cold and dead. Amy hadn't expected this. She put a hand to her mouth and tried to not focus on the dead body so much.

Sam and Dean walked around the body. It was being inspected by two paramedics, but feeling their work being interrupted, got up slowly and walked out.

Blake scratched the back of his head and said, "Just one shot through the chest. According to the burn, on the chest, we've determined the gun had a silencer attached to it. A neighbor thought it was strange how a figure came out through the back of the house and ran out. The person couldn't be identified. The neighbor couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. But they called the cops anyway to see if something was wrong. My guys found him here."

"Who is he?" Sam asked, staring at the strange tattoos on the man's body and also looking around the house. It looked as if a gypsy lived there. Different viles and plants everywhere. Latin symbols and phrases were all over the walls. The kitchen floor had the same thing.

"Daryl Greene," Blake explained. "Some sort of psychic witch doctor. You can find him in the yellow pages."

Dean knelt down beside the body, looking at the tattoos more than the gunshot. He looked up, meeting eyes with his brother, and both brothers were thinking the same thing: What connection did he have to Isabella?

Amy, who had stopped looking at Daryl, walked around the house in a wide circle, glancing at every object. Crystal balls, different glasses with odd mixtures inside, and several jars with spiders and snakes inside.

"According to the neighbors, he was a good man," Blake continued. "There's no reason why someone would want to shoot him."

"Any family?" Sam asked.

Blake sighed: "Just one. A daughter. But she's in Texas for school. Other than what I've told you, we know nothin' about this guy."

Amy noted the bathroom, living room, and a door in the hallway that led to Daryl's bedroom: a small twin bed with a brown comforter and a old black dresser.

She emerged from the hallway and spotted another door. Opening it slowly, Amy found not a closet but a set of stairs leading downward.

"Hey," Amy called, waiting for Sam, Dean, and Blake to beckon to her call. They followed her voice and found her standing in the entrance of the doorway. "I found a basement," she said.

Blake narrowed his eyes. "We haven't looked down here yet." He turned to the others and said, "Let me grab Officer Harkin and we'll go down there together. Don't move." And with that Blake left down the hallway and went back outside.

By that time, Amy, Dean, and Sam were already down the basement steps.

O.O.O.O.O.

It was dark and there was no switch for a light. Dean found a small lamp on a desk in the corner of the place and turned it on. The light was quite dim, not enough to see the place clearly, but it was enough.

There was a horrible smell in the room. They found more shelves with different viles and glasses and books written in different languages.

But the large table against the wall is what everyone was staring at…

Dull candles and incense. Yellow and white rose petals. Dried blood.

And a portrait of Isabella contained in a vintage gold frame. A heart circled Isabella's face. The heart had been drawn there with blood.

"Oh God…" Amy gasped, putting both hands on her mouth.

Dean and Sam were both staring at the picture and the table intently. Both brothers examined the table before realizing there was someone else in the basement.

Isabella. She stood in the far back, eyes wide, and walked slowly toward the table. She looked like she could cry, but she couldn't cry.

"Oh…" Isabella muttered slowly. She looked at the dead and fresh flower petals. Then her eyes were fixed on the picture of her. "Oh god…"

"Izzy…" Amy whispered comfortingly.

The sound of heavy steps erupted through the room and Blake, with the other officer, came trotting down the steps quickly.

Officer Harkin, a tall man with orange hair, stared at the table with Isabella's photo and mumbled: "Damn."

Blake, wide-eyed as well, looked at the table, and then back at Amy, Dean, and Sam.

Isabella was still fixated on the picture as Officer Evans used his walky-talky to contact back-up.

Dean sighed and turned to Sam. It had been verified. Dean shook his head and sighed: "It's a voodoo ritual."

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Short chapter, I know, but it gets a move-on on the story. Sorry again for the 2-month-slow update. Reviews/feedback much much much appreciated!


	12. Ch 11 x Voodoo & Stuff

**Chapter Eleven – Voodoo and Stuff**

The body of Daryl Greene, black-bagged and put onto a stretcher, was hauled into the back of an ambulance. Skies grew cloudy and gray and the neighborhood was filled with different whispers. Daryl Greene, a harmless, spiritual man, responsible for a car accident of a young woman? More cop cars seemed to show up and unfortunately for the Winchesters, they had to be forced out of the home for further investigation. Sam had a feeling that Blake was a little hesitant to believe that he and Dean were police officers, so Dean and Sam refrained from pulling out their badge to enter the home. Amy said they should still check out the place, but for some reason, Dean disinclined mysteriously and kept distance from the house.

He caused the accident? Using voodoo? For Amy, it was strange enough to believe in ghosts and demons, but voodoo? Dark-or-black magic, whatever?

She had her hands by her side as she watched the body disappear into the ambulance. Turning to Sam, who stood beside her, asked: "You really think it was _voodoo_?" Her voice whispered softly – her tone revealing to Sam that she couldn't believe in what Dean had explained earlier.

Sam turned his back on several officers who suddenly looked in their direction. Staring directly at his friend, Sam nodded in that it's-hard-to-believe-I-know way. "Voodoo is real. It's been practiced for ages. Starting in West Africa. The religion's grown since then."

"Religion?" Amy questioned, but the conversation ended when Dean and Blake approached.

Blake sighed and shook his head. "There seems to be no connection between Greene and your friend. He's a suspect; we can't exactly use witchcraft as a cause, so the investigation may continue."

"Voodoo," Dean corrected.

Blake, throwing an odd glance in Dean's direction, muttered, "Right…"

Amy looked from the house to Blake and asked, "You guys found nothing? No reason for him to target Isabelle in _any_ way?"

"Did you find any more altars?" Sam asked. "Was there anything else besides the table with Isabella's pictures?"

"More weird stuff," Blake noted. "Nothing that ties in with Isabella Jamison. There's not even any papers or information about Isabella lying around. Strange…"

Dean and Sam shared the same look, stared at one another, and then turned back to look at the house.

"I have to go," Blake sighed, hearing his name being called. He turned to Amy and said, "We'll get to the bottom of this. I'll keep you updated."

"Thank you Blake."

With that, Blake left, and the trio stood closer together to discuss what was happening.

"I don't believe Daryl was alone in this," Sam blurted out.

"I know," Dean nodded. "Whoever shot him…"

"What do we do now?" Amy whispered. "Investigation is still going on and we can't go back in there…"

"Not to worry," Dean grinned slyly. He opened his leather jacket and revealed a blue leather book. He said: "It's Greene's address book. A couple of these people are starred. We'll check 'em out."

Amy widened her eyes and gasped, "You stole that? That could be useful to the police – it's evidence you know-"

"Yes," Dean mocked, "and I'm sure it'll be real helpful to them. After all, they handle voodoo rituals all the time."

She pursed her lips at him and folded her arms across her waist. Dean raised his eyebrows in a smart-alec way.

"Okay, let's get in the car and check out one of the places," Sam explained. He turned to Amy and whispered carefully, "Hey, where's Izzy?"

Amy, appearing slightly sad, muttered: "Went back to the hospital. She couldn't really handle what she saw. I told her to just report what she saw to Grammy and for the two to wait for us to return."

"Okay, let's go," Sam confirmed and the three walked back to the Chevy Impala.

O.O.O.O.O.

"Voodoo?" Amy blurted out again in disbelief. She sat in the center back of the car flipping through the pages of Daryl Greene's address book. Daryl not only wrote down his friends' names, addresses, and numbers, but included their occupations. Some of them included: Psychic, Witch Doctor, Herb Seller, and Potions Guy.

Dean, driving, explained: "Started in West Africa. Not really evil."

"See," Sam added, "people think voodoo is evil. It's not. It's a religion, actually. The basis of it is basically belief in ancestors and spirits. And the ability to conjure them."

Dean: "Vodouisants believe there is one Creator of All, called the _Bondyè._ People believe they can call upon spirits, saints, and/or angels for help whenever needed."

Sam: "But spirits can be good or bad. Usually called Cool or Hot spirits. Hot spirits, called _Rada_, are the ones that are 'more combative'…neither is evil or good, but both can be angered or pleased."

Dean: "Mostly those who practice Voodoo use it to achieve harmony or peace."

Sam: "It's origin varies, so there is actually different types of Voodoo."

"So, wait," Amy asked, drinking all of this in slowly, "so Daryl Greene called on his great grand-daddy to cause Isabella's accident? And the altar? Why not use a doll and needles?"

Dean chuckled simply and explained, "Actually, that's a misconception."

"See, the whole voodoo dolls and using needles, that was used for medical purposes," Sam explained.

"The needles were used for pressure points," Dean finished.

"Oh," Amy thought aloud. "So Daryl Greene did call upon a spirit, though, right? I mean Sam, you saw that black, cloudy-fire…"

"A spirit," Sam realized. "That's what I saw. It's what caused the crash."

"_Rada_, one, mean, pissed-off spirit," Dean bit the corner of his mouth. "And Daryl was using it to attack Izzy."

"But wait, that explains the crash, but not Isabella…" Sam realized suddenly. Dean and Amy joined in on the new conspiracy. Sam continued: "Voodoo caused the crash. But Isabella? Daryl's dead, so he no longer has control over the spirit, so-"

"Isabella should have returned to her body," Dean whispered.

Amy, in the back, leaned forward worriedly and asked: "What does that mean?"

Sam looked back for a moment and explained, "It means someone else is controlling the spirit."

"And that someone may possibly be the one who shot him," Dean finished.

Questions flew through all of them: Why was Daryl Greene shot? Why did he need a partner? Did Greene even want to harm Izzy?

"Get me an address, gorgeous," Dean asked, eyes focused on the road.

Amy looked down at the address book and found the one name that had two stars besides the one that others got.

O.O.O.O.O.

There were two stars colored in Sharpie by the name: _Misty Rigueur_. Herb Seller. The address did not lead to a house, but a small store in the boondocks of Evanston, called _The Misty Lantern_. Candle stores and other places for selling the most random things, from spoons to letter openers, stood out above the Misty Lantern, a tiny green-painted store with black-painted windows and a wooden door with several different colored beads glued to it. Each letter of the Misty Lantern was lit with an orange neon light.

The '67 Chevy Impala parallel parked between a moped and a blue mailbox. Dean got out slowly, carefully putting Daryl Greene's address book into his coat pocket, and closed the car door while his eyes traced over the Misty Lantern. Sam and Amy got out of the vehicle in unison, studying the small store, each closing their car door ever-so-quietly. There was not a person in sight. The stores seemed to be opened, but no one was going in and no one was coming out.

Dean led the trio to the front door, Sam following by his side, and Amy questioning whether this was a good idea or not. After all, Misty Rigueur could have been the one to shoot Daryl Greene and Misty Rigueur could have been the one to want Isabella in a coma. With her own luck, Amy was unsure of even knocking was a good idea.

Knocking three times on the door, Dean took a step back and waited. Sam's nose flared slightly as he waited impatiently for the door to open. It didn't seem like the place customers just walked on through.

But the door did open, and Amy held her breath the entire time.

A woman, in her thirties, wearing a brown dress made of burlap, appeared in the doorway. She had straight gray-colored hair with black tips that reached her center back. She wore a sterling silver headdress and several different bracelets and rings on her arms and fingers. The gray circles around her eyes were either symptoms of lack-of-sleep, not enough sun, or she was a different kind of _herb_ seller.

"Yes?" the woman asked, having a slight French accent.

Dean and Sam each flashed their fake police IDs.

"Miss Rigueur?" Sam asked politely.

The woman in burlap nodded.

"Ma'am, we're here to speak to you about a customer you may have. His name is Daryl Greene," Dean added.

"Daryl?" Misty asked aloud, her voice was slightly raspy. She was a possible smoker. "What about him? Haven't seen the guy in a few days."

"I'm sorry," Amy apologized sweetly, understanding now that this woman was good and that she and Daryl had been friends. "But Daryl Greene was shot earlier this afternoon."

Her face had more gray to it now. Misty placed a hand on the back of her neck, taking a deep breath, and the three young people she was having a conversation was noticed the water in her eyes.

O.O.O.O.O.

The store was made of a front desk where customers paid for their things and twelve or thirteen different shelves with different viles and glasses with different herbs and plants. The walls were painted black and Misty had different symbols painted on her walls too.

The back of the store had large storage room, keeping extra viles and containers of herbs.

Misty sat in a black wooden desk with her face in her hands. Amy was kneeling against the floor, placing her hand comfortingly over the woman's wet hand.

"Oh dear," Misty gasped, looking up at Dean and Sam, who had said nothing since they came into the store. "Shot? Dead…who-why-"

"That's why we came here," Sam explained. "We have his address book. You seem to be the most important contact, from what we gather."

"Yes," Misty's voice squeaked through sobs. "He…he comes in every other day. The last week or so, he's only come in tw-twice."

"Daryl Greene was a Vodouisant?" Amy asked.

Misty nodded slowly, wiping her damp cheeks, and folding her hands in her lap. She pushed aside the gray hair that strayed to the side of her face.

"Good man," Misty explained. "I liked the term Witch Doctor better."

"Misty," Dean asked, "we have reason to believe that Daryl was involved in a voodoo ritual that may have caused a car accident. A young girl is in a coma."

Her head shot up as if bullets had been fired. Misty's eyes grew wide and she shook her head. "No no no no no…Daryl wouldn't do that. He would never do that."

"Not capable?" Amy asked.

"No!" Misty yelled, furious. She wiped her eyes and explained: "Daryl would never do anything like that. He would never hurt someone like that."

"We found an altar…" Dean added. "The girl who is in a coma…there was a picture of her on a table…blood and rose petals…a blood-circle was around the girl's face."

Misty continued to shake her head. "Daryl was a good man. He could never do something like that." Her lips and voice were trembling.

"Can you explain to us why?" Sam asked.

She nodded and forced herself to stop crying. Misty placed a hand around her neck, but then looked up at the three suspiciously. "You're cops? And you believe in this stuff?"

"We're not normal cops," Dean explained, and then motioned for Misty to continue.

The older woman nodded, again, and explained gently: "People go to Daryl for little things. The man's a _genius_ with spirits. He mostly does the whole sending-good-luck-or-bad-luck thing…teenagers come in asking for a little help in getting better grades…women want to curse their husbands…but Daryl _never_ goes to extremes. He knows better. He would never cause a crash to put a girl into a coma."

"Misty, listen to me," Amy begged, almost pleading desperately, "the girl who is in a coma, her spirit has jumped out of its body, the girl is walking around – she is my friend – and I can see her. She's not in her body,_ why_?"

It was this that Dean and Sam had wished she never said anything. They were unsure if they could even trust Misty and Amy was blurting everything out.

But the strange thing was…Misty seemed to understand. She believed.

Misty nodded slowly in an odd way. Her eyes fixated on Amy.

"We're not cops," Amy whispered, her eyes went up to Dean and Sam, "they're demon hunters. And he" she looked at Sam "and I are psychics. Please. This girl, Izzy, was in a car crash. She didn't cause it. And now she's out of her body. And my friend, Sam, has seen a black, smoky figure lurking around. And now Daryl is dead. You have to explain all of this to us."

Misty's eyes darted back and forth from each person. It didn't take her long to accept everything that she had just heard.

O.O.O.O.O.

"Daryl Greene was a popular man to go to. Like I said, people went to him for little things. His _curses_ involved pimples, slipping on a banana peel, tripping into puddles, that sort of thing. Daryl was a firm believer in the Balance – he only did enough to keep things straight. He was a good man. He would never hurt anyone…" Misty paused, thinking hard, and admitted, "But Daryl was having issues…_money_, mostly…he came to me for help…but I barely have _anything_…Daryl _did_ mention something about a customer coming to him…offering him a lot of money…to…to do something _big_…

"Please," Misty choked, "trust me, Daryl didn't tell me the name of the customer or what it was that this person wanted Daryl to do…but I told Daryl that he shouldn't be thinking about the money. He has his morals. He promised he wouldn't do anything bad…but now…and with this girl…"

Misty shook her head slowly. "Daryl did something big. He had to."

"So he wasn't alone…" Dean whispered aloud. He looked at Sam and then back to Misty.

"Can you explain what it is my brother saw?" Dean asked, referring to the black figure.

The herb seller nodded. "It's a spirit. Daryl uses them to do everything. They'll do anything. Daryl's a genius with spirits, like I said before. He doesn't piss 'em off, ya know. He has excellent control…

"But the reason I think for you seeing this…is that the spirit is still being controlled…and the spirit is what is keeping this girl from going into her body."

"What?" Sam asked. "So that was the plan? Cause the accident…and force Isabella out of her body?"

"Someone _wants_ her like that…" Amy realized slowly, eyes getting big. "But why?"

"I'm no expert, but I knew Daryl," Misty added. "The spirit is lingering around this girl. And, you said you heard it hiss?" Her voice directed to Sam, who nodded back. "Which means this spirit doesn't like being controlled. Someone, that someone who shot Daryl, doesn't know what they're doing."

"How do we stop it?" Dean asked.

"Destroy the altar or the person performing the ritual, either way _or_ both, it'll send the spirit away and it can no longer block the girl from her body," Misty finished.

Sam nodded slowly, putting his hand underneath his chin. _Someone wants Isabella out of her body…they want her in a coma…why? And who…who…who…_

Was this supposed to make everything easier? Some truth had been learned – they had learned more information than they had gathered in the last twelve hours. But with the new knowledge, it still didn't help.

The altar and the person responsible had to be found. But where was the other altar?

And who was doing all of this?

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Another short update, getting faster with this, REVIEWS very much appreciated. Thank you all for your comments!


	13. AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'M RETURNING

December 31, 2006. 7:45.

**I'M RETURNING.**

I know it's been a very LONG time since my last update.

Long story short: Lots have happened and there's been little time to actually take time to sit and write. I will update within the next week, HOPEFULLY TOMORROW. I now have the time and the drive to continue writing. I miss it dearly.

Hopefully you'll all continue reading and forgive me for my absense!

Happy New Year! And keep an eye out for updates!


	14. Ch 12 x

**Chapter Twelve **

Isabella stood before her body. _Strange_, she thought, to stare at her own almost-lifeless body. Apparently it was just her mind keeping her alive now. Was she a spirit? A soul? What exactly did an 'out of body experience' mean? But she was still _her_. Twenty-one-year-old Isabella Jamison. Failure in high school. College dropout. Pathetic actress. She didn't have a solid form. Yet, she was still the same girl. All of this made her feel guilty. _I should have earned my way into college. I should have done something more than try to pursue an acting career…_

She had not revealed herself earlier, but Isabella had been at the Misty Lantern. She heard everything. The dead man, Daryl Greene, was dead. And he was the one responsible for all of this. Her heart ached. Was it possible for her to feel sad? The woman, Misty, claimed that Daryl would never hurt anyone like this. And that he had an accomplice. So. Had an innocent man died for this? Was Daryl Greene even innocent?

_What if Amy and her friends are now in danger because of me?_

Now standing directly beside herself, Isabella leaned down to take a closer look of her pale complexion. She was still breathing. Quietly, and gently, but still breathing.

And as she felt her heart ache again with a whirlwind of emotions, Isabella slowly began to fade away.

O.O.O.O.O.

Carter Lynn, parked across the street in a forest green Jeep Cherokee, leaned as far back as possible to not be seen, but to also make sure he could see as well.

Amy, along with two other gentlemen, left a place called the Misty Lantern. They drove off in a black Chevy Impala.

He wrote something down in a pocket-size notebook and threw it into the passenger seat. The engine turned on and the vehicle drove across the street toward the herbal store.

O.O.O.O.O.

"Daryl Greene was innocent?" Dean scoffed while he turned onto the main street to head back to the hospital.

"It's just a feeling…" Amy defended herself. "Misty said Daryl would never do anything like that…she was telling the truth. But whoever shot Daryl…he's the one we have to go after."

"Impossible to go back to Daryl's place," Sam noted, going through the dead man's address book. "Police will most definitely be there. Especially after that altar…"

"Hold on," Amy announced from the backseat. Crossing one leg over the other, hand resting on her laptop, she answered a vibrating phone from her jacket pocket. "This is Amy Cromwell…" she answered, rubbing her forehead with her thumb. Her eyes widened a bit, Dean could see from the rearview mirror. Sam turned in interest. "Blake…" Amy sighed. She sat up more in her seat to listen more intently.

"You found what?" Amy gasped in disbelief. "No no…it _is_ helpful…are you still at the crime scene…okay, yes. Yes, send it directly to me. Thanks."

She hung up quickly and, just as fast, propped her laptop into her lap and logged into her account.

"What's up?" Sam asked.

"Blake just sent me a few J-PEGs of Daryl Greene's body…"

"His body?" Dean asked, slightly grossed out. "Not sure if I want to see that."

"Coroner took images of his body for evidence. Daryl had odd markings – tattoos and scars – all over his body. Sound familiar to you?" Amy asked as she began to open her e-mail.

Sam shrugged as he thought for a moment.

Amy glanced at her screen then turned the computer around to show Sam.

The images were taken of Daryl Greene's arms and chests. He had various black tattoos on him – odd symbols – along with several scars that made similar markings.

"Those scars were made from burnt marks," Sam noted. He met Amy's eyes and said, "He put them on himself."

"Sounds like protection charms and the whole caboodle," Dean muttered.

The car was suddenly quiet. Dean continued to drive while tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. Sam reached into the back to get the computer from Amy as he stared down at the other photos. There was a clean, detailed picture of Daryl's chest – showing the gunshot wound.

Sam shook his head and sighed heavily. "Daryl put those things on himself to protect him from evil…" He looked up at Dean who nodded in agreement. Dean replied: "'Guess Daryl wasn't ready to protect himself from a human."

O.O.O.O.O.

Grammy sat next to Isabella in a brown chair. Sitting by the hospital bed, the old woman leaned over, balancing herself on her elbows, while holding Isabella's hand. E yes closed, and breathing softly, Grammy hummed to herself. She could reach as far back as to Isabella's childhood. Unfortunately, her psychic abilities could not break the invisible wall. _If only I could break it, _then Grammy could see who it was responsible for Izzy's physical and spiritual state. _How terrible_, Grammy thought. Her thoughts lingered for a moment to the young girl's parents. The real father hadn't shown up yet. And her mother, Hero…_So devastated. So broken…_

She rubbed her old hands on the young girl's. The longer she held on, the stronger the pull was onto the girl's mind.

_I'm comin' to get ya chica, _Grammy thought. _Hold on…we're gonna save ya…_

O.O.O.O.O.

There was a fresh altar now. A different picture of Isabella, posing for some sort of magazine, framed in an antique silver piece on a wooden table. Blood. Rose petals – fresh and dead. Pebbles. Beside the table, three dead birds were hung from strings. Blood was still fresh on their wings; there were drops everywhere on the floor around them.

A dark figure roamed by, glancing at the altar, and then moving to a different table. The person pulled a gun from the heavy coat and placed it elsewhere. The figure then took something else from the table – a necklace. A silver chain and there was a small vile attached to it. The tiny vile was filled with a few droplets of blood. And a tiny lock of human hair. Getting what it needed, the dark shadow left the altar and exited through a door in a bright light.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean entered Isabella's hospital room with a hot cup of coffee, bought from the gas station across the street. Anything was better than hospital coffee. He strolled in, finding Grammy by Isabella's side. She was still humming.

"REO Speedwagon?" he laughed, placing the cup of coffee into Grammy's free hand.

The old woman looked up, smiled, and took a long sip from the drink. She glanced toward Dean, smiled gratefully, and asked, "Do you have a problem with REO?"

He winked and Dean mentioned, "Not my kinda music." He looked back at Isabella's body. Her small hand still clutched in Grammy's grasp.

"Any change?" the young hunter asked. He sat down in a chair beside Grammy and leaned back to relax.

Grammy shook her head sadly. "It's like I'm ramming my fist into a very hard wall. But I'm getting closer. In a way…it's like I can hear her calling out to me from the other side."

She turned quickly to Dean and asked, "Any sign of Izzy?"

"Nah," Dean explained. "No sign of her. Amy guesses she's just takin' a bit of alone time."

"Poor girl…" Grammy whispered.

"I know, but we'll get Izzy through this…" Dean tried cheerfully.

Grammy laughed and turned to Dean. "I didn't think you were this thick-headed." She cackled a fun, little laugh. Dean stared blankly at her, not able to find the words.

"Sonny," Grammy laughed. "I didn't mean Izzy. I mean Amy. Is she here?"

"Yeah," Dean stuttered. "In the bathroom."

"Boy," Grammy sighed, "the girl is very tired. And worn out. And you know she doesn't like hospitals-"

"I know-"

"Yes, I know you know," Grammy laughed again. "But please. You kids go back to her place and rest. Good detectives need a break too, ya know. But Dean, seriously, get the girl outa here and let her rest. Okay?"

Dean, taken aback, stood up from his chair and made his way to the open door. He turned back and asked, "What about you?"

The sweet old lady grinned. "I've spent longer times doing what I do. I'll be fine."

There was no reason Dean had to be told more than once. The crime scene was off-limits and they would have had Officer Blake call and give them any useful tips. They were sitting ducks in the situation. And Dean knew they all needed a rest.

He nodded his head, giving Grammy a silent goodbye, and Dean left.

Grammy turned back to stare at Isabella's body. She placed a firmer grip on her hand and closed her eyes. The humming slowly began to continue…

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam had a notepad on his knee, scribbling things down as he thought of random things to investigate. He scratched his head, trying to write as fast as he thought. Scratching his chin and then his head again, Sam found his inspiration and quickly began to write away.

_Hero – mom_

_Greg – stepdad_

_Vic – stepbrother ???_

_Real dad – MIA ?_

_Boyfriends?_

_California-related ppl ???_

Dean, out of the blue, sat next to Sam and leaned over to see what he was writing. "What's that?"

"List…" Sam muttered. "Suspects."

"Well that's nice…and your key people are her family?" Dean muttered.

Sam cocked his head to the side and rested his hand on his knee annoyingly. Tapping the pen against the notepad, the younger Winchester explained: "_Someone_ hired Daryl to do this job…_someone_ shot him…my guess…Daryl was never going to go to the edge. And his client was upset." He turned his head wildly to Dean and continued. "And Daryl is dead…and by now, the cops have taken apart that altar for evidence…"

"Which means that the thing done to Isabella should have been destroyed," Dean added, after all, the one performing the curse and the altar itself was now destroyed, "which means there _is_ someone else out there continuing the damn thing. But who."

"Isabella never hurt anyone…" Sam thought. "As far as I can tell…she was a decent person. The only time she probably pissed anyone off was when she dropped Northwestern-"

"And headed to Hollywood," Dean finished. "And god knows there are some angry-jealous-crazed people there."

"Dean…" Sam whispered. Both brothers looked at each other and then down at the list of names. "_Anyone _could seriously be doing this to her. Keeping her in a coma…how will we ever know?"

There was the worry. Dean sensed it very quickly. First there was worry. Then anxiety. Finally, guilt.

"Dude…we'll get to the bottom of this," Dean assured. "We just have to go through more detail on this one. Trust me. It's just another job."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Maybe you're right."

Dean nodded and looked back down at the notepad. "Why's Vic underlined?"

"Just a vibe…" Sam whispered. "Nothing too big. I dunno. He could be upset about Izzy's state…"

"Or something else…" Dean noted. "You do your psychic thing…I'll do my thing…and we'll finish this crap and finally have that long-deserved vacation." He smiled widely and slapped Sam on the shoulder. His younger brother only grinned and shook his head while he stuck the notepad into his pocket.

Dean rose from his seat and stretched his arms. "Lets get back to Amy's and chill a bit, right? Beer would be good."

Sam stood up too and rubbed his temple. "Yeah, actually does sound good." His eyes peered around the hospital. "Where _is_ Amy?"

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy was crouched in the corner of the bathroom. Body trembling and eyes welling with tears, she made small gasps of breaths as if she were hyperventilating.

She was not alone in the bathroom. Two figures, attired in hospital ware, looked down at her closely.

"Get away…" Amy pleaded, feeling beads of sweat roll down her face.

The two figures were patients. Dead patients.

Pale skin. Open wounds on their arms and chests. They continued to look down at Amy.

Amy turned her face away. Her body was shaking even more now. A line of blood escaped through one of her nostrils.

Soon the two figures had gone and a nurse on her break entered the ladies room. She found Amy, unconscious, lying on the floor with a bloody nose.

O.O.O.O.O.

AN: Not much, just wanted to make a short update. I had to re-read all the past chapters to remember exactly what I'm writing. I apologize for any errors – I'm a little rusty. Comments/Feedbacks GREATLY appreciated.

Happy New Year! Hello 2007!


	15. Ch 13 x I'll Save You

**Chapter Thirteen**

"God, it's nothing," Amy mumbled as she staggered through the doorframe of her apartment. Holding a bloody tissue beneath her nostril and wincing at the motions of her headache, the young woman kicked off her heels and headed directly for the kitchen. Dean and Sam were close behind, their faces were direct indications of worry and concern; Dean placed Amy's laptop bag on the floor while Sam closed the door quietly behind them.

"I think we should have listened to that nurse Amy," Sam called out, hearing the sound of Amy open a bottle of pills or something-rather.

Dean threw off his jacket in the living room and tossed it over a couch. He rubbed his head and quickly went back to the kitchen area – bumping into Amy just as she was coming out.

"Sorry-" Dean apologized quickly.

"No, I'm _okay_…okay?" Amy laughed weakly. Her nose was clean and tissue-less. She moved pass Dean and silently went into her own bedroom to change. With the door closing, Sam met Dean's gaze and shrugged.

"We should have checked her in," Dean mentioned. "I don't get what the hell is wrong."

"Headaches, nosebleeds…" Sam thought aloud. "Typical side effects of using some major psychic ability."

Dean nodded irritably: "I know. But nosebleeds? Doesn't that usually mean she's using power that isn't necessarily _good_ for her? Like back in 1997…she almost put herself in a coma."

_What else could she be doing…_Sam thought. _Visions are her weakest point. The power of empathy is her average-level power. Seeing the Dead is her key ability. Why the nosebleeds?_

"Sam?" Dean repeated.

His little brother looked up, dazed, and shook his head. "Sorry…"

Dean shook his head and put his hands firmly on his hips. He was worried. Concerned. Confused.

"I dunno how much more I can take of this," Dean grumbled. "You and Amy…the only people here, besides Dad, who mean a damn thing…I don't even know how to take care of the two of you-"

"Not your job," Sam reminded. He followed as Dean went back into the living room. Both sitting on opposite sides, Dean leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was frustrated, Sam could see, and closed his eyes too.

"Dean…" Sam whispered. He opened his eyes, still looking at his anxious brother. "We'll be fine – Amy and me – you just have to chill and not carry such a burden on yourself, okay?"

"Sure thing Sammy," Dean replied in a hushed tone.

Sam shook his head and stood up. "I'm going to jump in the shower. Sounds better than a nap."

The young psychic-hunter left the living room with his older brother watching. In exchange, Sam left to take a shower and Amy appeared from the hallway in more comfortable clothing – black sweats and a gray hoodie. Her hair was brushed back into a tight bun and she walked as if she were nauseous.

Dean sat up in his seat and asked worriedly, "You okay?"

She smiled fakely and increased her steps to the living room. Amy slid into the couch beside Dean, while he automatically put his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. She nestled beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I'm okay now, promise."

"But is everything else okay?" Dean murmured. "There was a nasty nosebleed. That nurse freaked-"

"Overdramatic, really," Amy grinned and looked up. "I think I was just trying to turn up my empathic-skills to a higher notch. My fault."

"Amy-"

"Dean…" Amy whispered, she reached up to touch Dean's tired face. "I'm okay. Please, just nap with me, okay?"

He sighed heavily, defeated, knowing this was all he would get out of her. Dean put both arms around Amy while the two were deep in one another's' arms. He stroked her back with his hand while humming Metallica. Amy was fast asleep in his arms. Dean petted her head and kissed her forehead. At least she was resting now.

O.O.O.O.O.

Freshly clean in another pair of holy-pants and a blue dress shirt, Sam quietly walked through Amy's apartment. His boots made somewhat was a _pat-pat_ sound with contact on the carpet. He felt no need for a coat; spring in Evanston was beautiful, and sometimes there were those undesirable hot days, but with a cold shower and fresh clothes, the young Winchester seemed more adapted to the weather changes. Hair slightly damp and shirt not buttoned up all the way, Sam peered into the living room – immediately seeing Dean's keys on the small center table. He grabbed them quickly and, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, exchanged the keys for that small note, which simply read:

_Couldn't sleep. Will be out working on Izzy's case. Have cell. –Sam-_

Minutes later, the apartment door closed quietly behind Sam. His steps could be heard for a moment going down the apartment stairs, but faded away almost instantly.

The couple was not horizontal on the couch; Dean's bicep served as a pillow for Amy's head and she rested her hands on his chest. She looked so small being cradled in Dean's arms. His chin was resting against her hair as he snored quietly.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam got into the Impala quickly. But while starting the vehicle, Sam turned to the passenger seat and-

"Whoa!" he yelped. Sitting beside him was a sad figure of a woman. She looked like she had been crying for several hours. Her face was so pale, and to Sam, Isabella looked paler than usual.

"Isa-" Sam gasped but as he stared at her complexion longer, he tilted his head in concern. Her hair was covering half of her face. She turned slowly toward him, in a still-weeping phase, and pouted her lips gently. "Are you okay?" Sam finished.

Isabella touched her face. Sam had to blink; she had looked blurry to him for a moment. But Sam rubbed his eyes and when we looked back…Isabella had _blinked_. Not with her eyes. Her entire body had _blinked_ – or maybe one could describe it as a _flash_. She was completely gone for half a second and there she was again.

"God, what's happening…" Sam whispered.

The young woman shrugged. She bit her lip and whined: "I feel so _tired_, Sam…" There. She had _blinked_ again.

"Oh no," Sam asked quickly, "are you fading away?"

"It's been like this for the last hour…ever since…ever since…" Isabella choked on her own words. She tried taking in a breath and turned back to the driver. "I was there when you guys were talking about that voodoo stuff."

Sam nodded. _She heard everything. All their theories. She was there to see Daryl Greene…_

"I think it's like em-emotion-overload," Isabella tried speaking clearly. She was getting better. "And I lost control. I kept moving from place to place so fast…not walking…but I kept being…transported to different places. I even went to Dad's house…he wasn't there…not even his car…I guess he's on the way to see me, but…"

She turned to Sam and asked, "Do you really think someone is doing this me? And my family…do you think-"

"Izzy…" Sam whispered in a soothing tone, "I don't know anything yet. But we're going to figure it out. I need to ask you…and think seriously…would anyone want to hurt you in any way…or not even hurt you…since, their purpose wasn't to kill you…maybe someone who would want to see you suffer?"

Throwing her hands in the hair, Isabella laughed and shook her head. "There's no one." She was in-between laughing and crying.

Without another word, Sam left the apartment parking lot and sped into the main street. When the spirit of the comatose girl asked where they were going, Sam merely replied: "We're going to talk to your step-brother."

O.O.O.O.O.

Greg and Hero were in the living room of a rather large home. There were two fireplaces and all the furniture pieces – from the massive couch to a tiny vase – were all quite luxurious. A trembling mother was pacing the floor with a tissue held under her breath. Her second husband, sitting on the couch with an empty cup of coffee residue, stared up at his wife and tried comfortingly: "Honey. Please. Sit."

Hero snapped her head around to her husband. "How could you think of such a thing?"

Her husband tilted his head in defense. "Hero," Greg pleaded, his voice was very apologetic, "this wasn't _my_ idea. You know that. Isabella told us, before she left for L.A., if _anything_ were to happen to her…if she were to be a in a _vegetated _state for more than a month…"

She shook her head wildly and bit her lip. "I'm not pulling the plug on my daughter in two weeks."

"Dear, I would never want to even think about doing it then…" Greg whispered. "We have to think realistically. The doctors say she's fighting. But they can't even explain why she's still in a coma. They have doubt she will wake up. I don't want Isabella to die in two weeks…but we have to think of the future. Isabella…_if_ she doesn't wake up…she would never want to lie in a hospital bed for a year…or more…"

The woman slowed her paces and sat down on a sofa chair across from Greg. She put her hands to her face and rubbed her temples.

Suddenly, a man emerged from the large kitchen attachment. He wore a flashy gray suit with a white shirt and matching white tie. His age unknown, the man looked a little old to have a mohawk. The dark-haired man carried into the living room a beige cup filled with coffee.

"I'm more of a _chi latte_ man," the man chuckled; his voice was so high-pitched for a man of his stature. He noticed the disgruntled expressions on the married couple's faces. "Sorry," he coughed.

The door bell rang then. Hero, frustrated with any more discussion of anything, jumped up to open the mahogany door.

Hero cocked her head to the side when she allowed Sam Winchester into her home.

"Sam, hello there," Hero greeted. She escorted Sam inside as he neatly wiped his shoes on a matt outside.

As Sam walked in, Isabella, at his sight, sighed and mentioned: "The police were here, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Mom knows about the voodoo stuff."

Hero walked back into the living room with Sam at her side.

"Ah, hello young man," Greg greeted. Sam nodded in greeting and turned to stare at the stranger standing in the room awkwardly.

Isabella laughed and pointed. "That's Hunter. My agent."

"And you are?" Sam asked, looking at Hunter.

The man placed his cup on one of the fireplace mantles and approached Sam smoothly. He held his hand out and said cheerily, "Hunter Austin. Miss Jamison's agent back in Cali. I came to see how my girl's doing."

Sam nodded in understanding.

"You a boyfriend?" Hunter inquired.

"No sir," Sam replied, studying the man's suit and hairdo.

"They've never even met," Hero explained.

"Oh, well…" Hunter raised an eyebrow. "That makes sense."

"I'm close friends with Isabella's friend, and professor, back at Northwestern," Sam added.

"Ah, I see," Hunter smiled, licking his teeth obnoxiously.

"Have a seat, Sam," Hero instructed sweetly.

"Sit on the couch next to Greg," Isabella noted. Sam, confused, nodded and did as he was told.

Sitting next to Isabella's step-father was awkward. Isabella then sat down next to Sam who looked at her oddly. No one noticed Isabella of course, except Sam, but they did notice Sam's expression.

He turned quickly to cover up any odd inquisitions. "Umm…" Sam started. "I heard about the bust at Daryl Greene's house." Hero flinched at the not-so-surprising news. She sat down on a free couch, with Hunter at her side.

"The police told us," Greg noted. "The police say he's not a suspect. They thought it would be best to tell us the information…the man had a devil-worship-thing set up in his home…with Izzy's picture…"

Hero closed her eyes and shook her head.

Sam stared around and sighed. "I'm very sorry." He turned to Hero. She was obviously in not the best of states. Her hands were shaking and her eyelids were so puffy and red from the thousands of tears she had shed in the last twenty-four hours.

"I'm sorry to intrude," Sam began, "but I was looking for Vic." He turned to Greg automatically. "I went by his apartment but he wasn't there."

"Oh, Vic's been out most of the day," Hero explained. Sam turned to face her instead. "He's been with friends during this time. He's also the one been in charge to get into contact with my ex-husband…"

"No word yet?" Sam asked.

Isabella added to Sam: "I think he's on his way here."

Hunter sighed loudly, taking the attention in the room suddenly. "This is all crap." He wiped his eyes. "My dear girl is in a coma…a man, with a freaky altar with Isabella's picture…and after that one story printed in the papers about her accident…you know there'll be a hella of a lot more now with this Greene-man."

"Should we be expecting any trouble from the press?" Greg asked.

The mohawk man shrugged and sighed. He bit his lip and tapped his finger by his ear. "Depends if we have any crummy reporters who pick up scent on the Daryl Greene story. I'll do my best to protect Izzy. There is…though…still the matter of her…_wishes_…"

"Dear god…" Hero whispered.

"What, what…" Isabella asked everyone, but Sam, the only one who could hear her, did not reply.

"What do you mean?" the psychic-hunter asked.

Greg leaned back and explained, "Isabella would never want to be in a vegetated state like this."

"We're not making any official decisions yet," Hero snapped, looking at her husband wide-eyed. "Isabella…like anyone, would never want to live the rest of her life in a hospital bed hooked up to some machine…" She looked at Sam tearfully. "But who can make a choice to end it like that…"

"No no no no…no unplugging me, not yet!" Isabella screamed, rising to her feet. "Sam, Dean, and Amy will figure this out! Okay! It's voodoo! It can be fixed! Sam, tell them-"

"Isabella never made an official will, correct?" Sam asked.

The California agent then jumped in. "Izzy always thought she was too young to make an official will," Hunter explained. "Although her word is her bond. She told me the same thing. 'One month, and that's it'…but we'll definitely give it more time. She'll come out of it. Don't worry." He gave Hero a fat grin. "Hero, please…I have the utmost respect for you and your husband…and to Izzy's wishes. She'll come out of it. And then she'll be a big star back in L.A."

"This Daryl Greene man…" Hero whispered, putting her face in her hands, "is there any way…at all…that may be he had something to do with the accident?"

"Honey-" Greg started, but his wife hushed him.

"He obviously hated her in some sick, twisted way. Maybe he somehow did something to her…" Hero was rambling on.

"I want to leave…" Isabella was begging Sam.

Sam realized it was time to leave the family be. He never had a chance to say goodbye. Greg and Hero were in each other's face instantly. Hero was yelling and Greg was trying to calm her down. Hunter was muttering things to himself, drinking his coffee once again. From the window, one could see the Chevy Impala take off with a fury.

O.O.O.O.O.

Carter Lynn, with a satisfied grin, got back into his car. The vehicle was parked right outside the hospital where Isabella Jamison lay in her coma.

He was quickly on his cell phone and he added happily: "Hey George! Yeah. I know. Okay, listen to this…I've got a great story. Nothing like headline-news. If I can have it complete in two hours, will it make tomorrow's paper…yeah?...great!"

He hung up and tossed his cell phone into one of the cup holders. Starting the car with an excited motion, Carter was fast down the street and on his way home to write a story.

O.O.O.O.O.

Sam walked down the hallway of the hospital quickly. He was eager to see Grammy and to know if there was any change or if the old woman had been successful in breaking down the psychic barrier.

When he entered the hospital room, Sam's eyes widened.

Grammy's head was lying next to Isabella's hand on the hospital bed.

"Grammy!" Sam cried worriedly. He ran over to her but before he could even shake her shoulders, the old woman's head popped right back up.

"Sam?" she asked oddly. She was greeted with Sam's warm smile and relieved touch. Grammy squeezed Sam's hand and shook her head sadly in return. "I couldn't do anything, Sam. I'm sorry." She turned back to look at Isabella.

Sam nodded in agreement. Isabella was no longer at his side. The previous discussion in her step-father's home was upsetting.

"I'm going to find out who's doing this to me," she had cried in the car. "I'll go everywhere – I'll follow Vic…and I'll try to find my dad…and even Greg…anyone…_everyone_…I'm not dying!" Her words were final. Isabella had now taken this investigation into her own hands. She _blinked_, and she was gone. Sam knew she was being emotional…but something was so strong in her words. Isabella wasn't a strong, positive speaker. But her declaration had begun to worry Sam.

Could Isabella be saved? It seemed simple enough to find the one responsible. All they had to do was find the second altar. To destroy it. And to free Isabella of the _Rada_ holding her against her will. But there were so many options. It made sense to start in Evanston. But Isabella had gone all the way across the country to Los Angeles. Anyone there could hate her. Anyone there could have traveled here, to Illinois, to watch Izzy's accident and to kill Daryl Greene. Here it was. The moment. Sam rarely felt these moments. It was a sharp feeling that seemed to inflict everywhere in his body. Doubt. That's what it was. The uncontrollable doubt. It filled him up and drowned him in it.

Nothing made sense to Sam. The only conclusion he could make was this: Life was completely and utterly unfair. He couldn't understand how they could better their chances at saving Isabella. Sam didn't know why Amy was having nosebleeds, and wasn't taking the initiative to figure it out. He didn't know where his father was. The talk Dean and he had a while ago…if the demon was destroyed…would Dean have a normal life? Ever? Sam had forgotten to take into consideration that Carter Lynn was at home, writing a story about Amy, with far too many details. And Jessica. Of course. She was always something that popped into his head at times like these. Sam had to save everybody. Because he couldn't save her. If he let Isabella die, Sam felt _he_ was really the one who killed Jess. _There he was_. Just looking at Isabella's pale, sleeping face. Grammy had said his name several times. He hadn't noticed. Sam muttered quietly, to Isabella, "I'll save you."

O.O.O.O.O.

AN: Will update ASAP. Still trying to get back to the 'mood' of the story. I've been apart from it for too long. Please, reviews/comments/feedback MUCH appreciated! And I'm glad _Supernatural_ is returning Jan. 11 with new episodes – it's been too long. And I've almost killed myself over the re-runs AND double-features of _Smallville_, ick. And I know that many of you are happy too!

REVIEWS/COMMENTS!


	16. Ch 14 x Who to Accuse

Ghostwriter: Thanks for the comment and being a faithful reader!

IheartPadalecki: I was DEFINITELY worried too. I was afraid I wouldn't get back into the same rhythm with the story.

Spuffyshipper: I want Dean and Amy to say those words too, soon. But I like postponing it just a LITTLE. So be patient…

Thanks for all of my reviews and I hope you all enjoy. Reviews/Comments MUCH appreciated.

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Fourteen – Who to Accuse**

It had to be Vic. It was Sam's only real suspect. Despite the lack of following someone around or doing background checks, Sam felt that the aloof step-brother was the main suspect. Yet, he didn't have that gut feeling. No vibe. Nothing to really tell himself that it was one hundred percent correct. He had made mistakes before. Accusing the wrong person, and it was always in the end when the true villain would reveal themselves. _Vic's been gone most of the time…not at his place, not at the hospital…quiet when we all first met him…_Sam also wondered if maybe Vic was too _obvious_ of a suspect. That happened a lot too. The most unlikely person could also be the bad guy. Greg, Hunter, even Hero? _Hero would never do that to her daughter…she was so upset…_But then again…_What if Hero was really upset at Isabella leaving, and dropping out of Northwestern…Isabella even admitted it took a great deal, and possibly GOOD contacts, for Izzy to be even LOOKED at…what if Hero was upset…and tried to get back at her own daughter…_It wasn't bad accusing family. After all, Sam remembered Max Miller.

There was also the case of Isabella's missing father. He could be on his way here immediately. Sam didn't understand why the man didn't show up after the first few days Izzy was in the coma. Work? Transport? Sam remembered hearing some sort of excuse for a man to finally see his comatose daughter after two weeks. _He wasn't a part of Izzy's life for a long time…maybe moving to California upset him…maybe daddy didn't want to lose his little girl…_

Greg. _Isabella's only the step-daughter. He seemed loving at first…but back at his house, he kept bringing up the fact that Isabella didn't want to be put on life support for a long time…didn't Greg want to cut her off soon?_

Hunter. _The guy in the flashy suit with a fake smirk. Maybe he had a thing for Isabella, and she refused him. _Sam knew how people could be in Los Angeles…_What if he's getting back at her-_

"Stop it," Sam said aloud. He was alone in the Impala, driving back to the apartment. It was six o'clock, and with no phone call in the last short hours, Sam knew Dean and Amy were still asleep.

Vic, Greg, Hero, Missing Dad, and Hunter seemed to be the only ones suspected. But it was such a poor group to gawk at. Sam knew this. His father taught him better than this. Even if one of them were responsible for Izzy's state…Sam would have to hunt down the reason why. Anyone could have a motive. Who knew?

_Isabella could have had an ex-boyfriend here. He knew she would be coming back to her hometown. He could have followed her here and set up the deal with Daryl Greene…it could be anyone hanging out at the hospital…_

_And what about some angry actress who got pushed aside because Isabella came into the picture? Maybe this girl wanted to do more than try to do the L.A.-actress thing and ruin Izzy's reputation…why not try to kill her…_

He got a headache from thinking about all of this. There wasn't anything to go on. Sam only had a few visions of the black, cloudy figure – the _Rada_ – and he hadn't had another one since then.That was all the evidence he had. Visions. Not even Amy nor Grammy could get anything. The villain couldn't be detected. Maybe the villain would never be detected.

O.O.O.O.O.

His tired eyes opened slowly to adjust to the sudden darkness in the room. Dean could have sworn the room was filled with bright light as he had fallen asleep. He was on the edge of the couch, sleeping, with Amy squeezed between him and the cushions. She continued to sleep, unmoved by Dean's jolt to the dark. He blinked his eyes harder, yawned, and looked around. Obviously, Sam wasn't just sitting around watching them. And he knew Sammy. He could never nap this long.

Dean adjusted himself easily as to not disturb Amy. He turned around gently to look at the center table. The car keys were gone. Instead, there was a small note in familiar handwriting. Dean reached for the note, read it, and tossed it to the floor irritably.

Worry filled Dean like electricity. It meant Sam had been out for hours without a phone call.

He moved fast, but gently, off from the couch and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. Speed-dialing Sam, Dean waited for his brother to pick up. Amy had begun to move around and she rolled onto her side, looking up at Dean. She raised her hand up to rub his back softly. Dean turned to her, concern found dead in his eyes, and Amy quickly leaned up on her elbow-

"Sam!" Dean answered, sighing in relief and giving Amy a satisfied grin. He focused back to his cell and barked, "Where you been, man?"

He listened for a few minutes, feeling Amy's hand rest on his thigh. Dean rested his hand on hers, without even looking down, and he squeezed her fingers.

"Alright then, see you in a bit," Dean said, and the conversation was done. He put the cell phone back into his pocket and looked back at Amy.

"Sam's been out. Doing solo. He thinks Vic is the main suspect. Grammy called him and said she's going back home for some rest. Isabella's off doing her own thing. Sam was coming back here but is high-tailing it back to go see Vic. And he suggests we do something mighty productive as well."

"Such as?" Amy asked as she sat up fully.

"I prefer sleeping a bit more," Dean said slyly, pressing his forehead against hers. Amy smiled tiredly up at him. But she stared at him seriously. Dean sighed and said, "But…since we don't exactly have a wide list of suspects…maybe we can try going to Hero's place…invite ourselves over…find any _altars_."

"Sounds productive," Amy agreed, and was in the process of getting up as Dean grabbed her small waist and hoisted the young woman into his laps, with her legs swinging around him. He gave her his version of a serious glare, and said, "The first thing I'm going to do when this case if over…is _kiss_ you, Miss Cromwell."

Amy smiled and bit the corner of her lower lip. "Is that so?" Dean nodded slowly. "And the time in between?"

"Do whatever I want," he said in a matter-of-fact way, and reached up to touch her face. She was the first to bring her face down to his and crashed her lips with his. They were both smiling, while kissing, and Dean wrapped his arms around her back and smiled up at her.

"C'mon Winchester," Amy laughed playfully, she got up from his lap and pulled his hands so he would get off from the couch. "We have work to do."

O.O.O.O.O.

Vic was definitely at home now. Sam knocked on the door hard, sure to get attention, and was greeted with a tired looking man. Sporting a rough looking black leather jacket and jeans, Vic appeared as if he had taken a short, very short, and abrupt nap before Sam came to his apartment. The man lived on the third floor of a nice complex.

"Yeah?" Vic asked. His voice was calm, Sam was surprised. He half-expected Vic to be yelling or at least upset on some level.

"Hi, I'm Sam…we met at the hospital?" Sam greeted.

Vic nodded and tried to smile. He was obviously tired. "Come in." He walked back into his apartment and Sam walked in cautiously. Vic didn't notice Sam was careful to place his gun on the inside of his coat pocket.

"I actually came looking for you earlier," Sam explained, gazing around the place. It was similar to Amy's, but made for just one person. A perfect bachelor pad. Vic didn't seem too much like a lady's man, but the large garbage can by the opening of the kitchen, filled with empty beer bottles, said something else about Vic. "I just wanted to come around to make sure you were okay. About Izzy and all. Also, have you got in touch with her father?"

The step-brother was surprised by the questions. His face was so expressionless. Sam wasn't sure whether to be suspicious about this man or confused. Vic showed no emotion at all. He showed he was tired, but was he happy…sad…

"Umm," Vic thought for a moment. "Sorry. I was out at a bar with some friends today. I called Matt" (Izzy's real father) "but nothing again. I guess he's on the road. I got home just now and must have shut my eyes for just a moment…" Vic paced the carpet and asked, "Hey man, you want a beer?"

Sam nodded his head and relaxed into the sofa. Vic went into the kitchen but suddenly came out. "Hey, sorry, I had a party here the other night…let me go to my friend's place – right next door – he owes me a case anyway…be right back…"

Vic left the place slowly, his hair looked lighter in the remaining sunlight outside. Just as the door was closing, Sam leaped to his feet and ran into what was obviously the main bedroom.

A gray bed, a television set with a DVD player, and a dresser. It was a guy's room. Some clothing on the floor, even an empty beer bottle, which wasn't surprising. He looked around the area and found a large walk-in closet. He opened it, hoping to find an altar, but found regular clothes hanging and shoes on the bottom. He searched deep and then moved on somewhere else…

O.O.O.O.O.

Vic, outside, waved to a friend from the next apartment over and carried a case of beer back into his place. He opened the door, and found Sam sitting in the same place looking at one of his car magazines.

"Got some good stuff," Vic grinned – showing the first sign the man had any emotions – and Sam grinned back.

Vic handed Sam a bottle and looked down at the magazine he held in his hand.

"Hey man, you and your brother have a _niiice_ ride. 'Sixty-seven, I bet?"

"Yeah," Sam laughed, "she's a beauty. She's my brother's."

"Shame," Vic sighed. He slumped in the couch, next to Sam, and drank down his own beer in seconds. Vic was opening up a second when Sam tossed the magazine aside.

"So, Vic…" Sam started, feeling he had the step-brother's attention, "do you think anyone is responsible for Izzy's accident?"

"Responsible?"

"Do you think someone was trying to attack her…"

"Are you kidding?" Vic's tone was serious. "Look…everyone is really upset…I get that…but the car crashed…it just went off the road…either there was some car trouble…or she…" His face cringed and Vic shook the thought he had away. "It was just car trouble. Izzy would never do anything to harm herself."

Sam couldn't finish his first beer. That sudden tone Vic revealed about himself was that he was a caring step-brother. His gut told him. Every vibe was telling me that Vic was innocent. An okay guy.

O.O.O.O.O.

"A bust too?" Sam asked, driving the car back to the apartment.

Amy was talking to him this time, laughing the whole time. "Yeah…we went back over to Hero and Greg's place…the place is clean. No altars. Dean made every excuse possible to visit every room possible. Even the basement _and_ attic."

Sam chuckled as he turned into the apartment complex. He would be back before Amy and Dean would.

"How'd he manage that…"

Amy laughed. "He used a lot of bathroom excuses. 'I need air' stuff…yet he never left the house. He wanted a tour of the house, and when he didn't see too much of the house, he complained of his 'man' troubles and searched the entire upstairs. Closets, shelves, even tiny little spaces where there could be an altar. I did the same, 'woman' stuff and needed to go around the house…I even got Hero to take me into her bedroom…you know, I said I needed 'female'stuff…and I looked around everywhere too Sammy…the place is clean…"

"What about Izzy's agent, was he there?" Sam asked, parking in the lot and relaxing in the car.

Amy was laughing again, not about the past experience at Hero's home, but because she thought Dean was "cute" driving her Cooper.

"Oh, sorry," Amy laughed again and continued the conversation, "the agent wasn't there. But oh! The dad called – a Matthew – and he's a couple of hours from here."

"So the dad's _finally_ back…" Sam thought aloud.

"I say he'll be number one priority," Amy got serious, Sam realized she and Dean had discussed this, "think about it…what if the dad isn't hours away…what if he's been here the whole time…he could have a perfect alibi…"

"I agree," Sam sighed. "Maybe. But we need to keep out eyes opened."

Amy was laughing again. She was poking more fun at Dean, and Sam could hear his brother yell: "Dammit, woman."

Sam laughed, and with a "See you later", got out of the car.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: This was just a short update. I'll update with more **exciting** stuff in the **NEXT** chapter…things get interesting…REVIEWS/COMMENTS much appreciated!


	17. Ch 15 x The Newspaper and The Rada

**Chapter Fifteen – The Newspaper & The Rada**

Isabella did not make contact with the Winchesters and the young professor. The three returned to the apartment, calling out her name, hoping something would happen. The night was spent doing further research and checking on Grammy. Her voice was thin over Amy's cell. The old woman was set for bed at seven.

The hunters did finally relax. Amy suggested a round of beers, enough to make them sleepy, especially since Amy and Dean had napped their afternoon away. Sam agreed to a sleeping pill around nine. Either Sam took it voluntarily, or Dean would shove it down his throat – the older brother was concerned for his younger sibling's well-being. It was obvious Sam was upset about this particular case. Amy, knowing Isabella best, was deeply saddened by the event, but Sam was taking this in a completely different way. It showed.

Amy had a later class at one the next day, but it didn't mean an early rising for the others and continuing the investigation. Isabella would be helped, Sam could get whatever-it-was out of his system, and Dean would grin at the sheer thought of his long-awaited vacation.

The three were in bed by ten, sleeping easily with the help of a sleeping pill or beer.

O.O.O.O.O.

The figure stepped before the darkness, hooded and clocked, stroking the necklace with a vile attached to it, with a gloved hand.

In its other hand, the figure angrily dropped a fresh newspaper on the altar. It was opened to a small, but well-advertised article on one of Northwestern's professors. There was a black-and-white photograph of Professor Aimes Cromwell at her desk, smiling, with her hands folded neatly by her laptop. In bold letters, above the picture, read:

**KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY**

The title itself wouldn't take your eyes off the picture. For there it was. A circle, drawn in blood, around Amy's image.

O.O.O.O.O.

She seemed to be the first to always wake up. At the least the night had been peaceful, one of the rare occasions Sam didn't wake up screaming or having a terrible vision. Peaceful. Too peaceful for her taste. It didn't feel right. Waking up with a stream of sunlight on your face at ten o'clock. Everything was celestial. But Amy felt a wave of guilt crash over her; in those few moments of enjoying her morning, realizing she could sleep in and not leave for class until after twelve, she had forgotten, for only a moment, about Isabella.

Climbing out of bed sleepily, Amy stretched her arms and, not even caring about her unbrushed and creased hair, left her bedroom.

The hall was quiet and the guest room door was closed. Sam was sleeping there and Dean had the couch.

She was careful not to disturb him; Dean seemed to be the one to drink most during the night. He would obviously sleep in a bit more.

With coffee on the ready, Amy walked to her front door to pick up the paper, which was always promptly delivered at eight o'clock each morning.

Right outside the door, were her apartment complex newsletter and a newspaper, just as expected. She picked it up lazily, closing the door quietly behind her, and returned to the kitchen.

She disregarded the newsletter and paper. Coffee seemed to be the only thing that mattered. Plus, in her opinion, the others should have been up by now and everyone should have been continuing looking into Izzy's case.

Amy drank from a clay cup, painted purple and glazed appropriately, a gift given to her by an art student at Northwestern. She drank slowly; the first taste woke her up. The second made her realized what the day had ahead for her – and them.

Her hand searched the kitchen counter for the newspaper. The headline wasn't exciting: **MAYOR REBUILDS PRISON**.

Oddly enough, Amy found, in the top right corner, and advertisement for an article that had the Northwestern logo and the headline: _KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY: The Most Interesting Professor at Northwestern University of Evanston._

_There had been an article printed already?_ Amy was slightly annoyed. She tried to give Professor Saton's nephew a chance, but Amy hadn't exactly enjoyed the interview between her and Carter Lynn.

She went to Page Five, as the advertisement directed, and found the bold print **KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY** and her picture.

**KANSAS GIRL IN THE BIG CITY**

_**-C. Lynn**_

_Northwestern University of Evanston presents an honorary award to a noteworthy professor every year, rewarding this individual with respect and a reputation to last throughout the decades (it also includes a ten-pound plaque.)_

Amy couldn't help but laugh. She realized Carter Lynn was a satirical writer, adding some humor in his articles. Most of it was completely harmless. The 'noteworthy professor' continued reading.

_Aimes Cromwell, age 26, is an astonishing individual and, in my opinion, was the only candidate for this award. A native from Lawrence, Kansas, this small town girl achieved the greatest dream possible – not only is she Northwestern's youngest professor in history but her students have the highest average in her art classes than in any other class. She is popular among her students and fellow colleagues, as well as with her community. Amy, as friends call her, teaches Art History and although she is still on her way to receive a PhD in her field, this woman, obviously gifted with a radiant beauty, was equally matched in brains. Like any young bachelorette, Miss Cromwell enjoys her time with her friends and is just like any normal girl…_

Her eyes squinted down at the paper as she read further on…

_This young woman loves movies and books, and has a variety of interests in other areas: Psychic Conventions and Paranormal Investigation-_

Eyes widening and mouth dropping-

_She takes an interest in reading about psychics and 'ESP', as well as attending a psychic convention back in January. One can say Amy Cromwell has taken a creative turn in her artistic world. Recently, with sad regards, Miss Cromwell has involved herself in the investigation of a car crash of a previous student, Isabella Jamison, age 21._

_Jamison, arriving back home from California, crashed her car nearly two weeks ago and has suffered a comatose state since the tragedy. Police know nothing of how the car crashed, or why the car crashed, and Miss Cromwell has warm-heartedly taken out the time to help as much as she can. Aided with the help of friends and police, it is suspected (by some) that Miss Cromwell believes Jamison's investigation is in need special services – not the FBI – but supernatural._

"I'm going to kill him!" Amy squealed, gasping at the same time. From the living room, Dean was stirring. Amy gripped tightly around the paper and said aloud: "'By some'? Please, by HIM!"

_Just recently, an Illinois man, Daryl Greene, was shot in his home and left for dead. Police can draw no connection between he and Isabella Jamison, except for the fact the man had a ritualistic altar in his basement – all centered around Jamison._

Amy didn't notice Dean, wearing jeans and shirtless, stood beside her, looking over her shoulder and down at the paper.

_I guess one doesn't need to call a Ghostbuster for this one. Contact an old friend, or a professor, and it shows that Amy Cromwell is no ordinary girl from Kansas. _

_Professor. Overachiever. Attractive. She definitely shows interests in many different areas._

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy was heard in the shower – she was yelling, not at herself, but to the imaginary Carter Lynn.

Sam turned his head from the hall. He sat back on the couch, in jeans and a regular white T-shirt, listening to Dean finish the article.

Dean threw the newspaper on the center table and balled his hand into a fist.

"So, what are we going to do about it?" Sam asked.

Dean pursed his lips and said, "Amy's going to go into work early and try to ensure her work won't be affected by this…you're going to continue helping Isabella…and I'm going to hunt that son-of-a-bitch down and show him some 'paranormal investigation.'"

Sam, sighing, rubbed his tired eyes and shook his head angrily. "Man, Amy does not need this…"

"She's freaked dude," Dean noted, "she's worried of what people will think – especially Northwestern people – and Isabella's family…if they read this…"

"This Carter guy wrote everything down that will definitely make things a bit more interesting now."

"Oh, it'll get interesting." Dean grumbled and finished buttoning up a dark blue shirt. "And when I kill Lynn, things will get better."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "but let's focus on hunting one evil at a time. Save Lynn for last."

"Oh, I'll get that bastard," Dean gritted his teeth angrily. He reached over to grab the newspaper again, he read a few lines, and laughed sarcastically. "And what's with this… 'bachelorette'… 'attractive'…what's he trying to do – expose her or date her?"

He threw the newspaper angrily off to the side, Sam catching it instead and reading the article for himself.

"Please man," Dean barked, "you take care of Isabella's problem, I'll take care of Amy's – we meet in the middle."

"Look, calm down…Carter Lynn is scum…" Sam tried. Dean's neck was clenching and his fists were still by his side. "Amy will be okay. Carter Lynn has a reputation of being a dirtbag. Northwestern won't be hurt by this, Amy won't be hurt by this, and Amy will definitely not get burned by Northwestern. And we HAVE to focus on Izzy…okay…just chill…"

Dean leaned forward in his seat, relaxed a bit, and stared down cold at the newspaper in Sam's hand.

Her voice could be heard from down the hall, through a locked door, and in the running shower – Amy was upset and she continued to mumble on.

Sam rubbed his hands together and ran a hand through his hair.

"Amy will go to Northwestern," Sam planned, "I will go through Daryl's address book more carefully and find someone else to question…you contact Grammy and see if she's willing to try again at the hospital…then you will help me find whoever caused Isabella's crash. Okay?"

He must have mumbled a "Whatever" and Dean angrily sat back in the couch, shaking his head furiously.

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy stomped through the halls of Northwestern, attired in brown-beige striped slacks, a white blouse with a matching brown vest, and heels, carrying her bag by her side. She was still upset and her hair swayed continuously along the sides of her face. Her destination was to her office first – then off to see Dean Karajan. His reaction was a giant question mark to her. Either Northwestern would be just as upset that one of their own was humiliated…or they would be upset at her for her new "interests."

Sam agreed that Amy deny what Carter Lynn had printed. "Basically," Sam had said, "accuse him of stalking and for libel."

She found herself in her office, quickly setting up her laptop on her desk and pulling out the newspaper article. Once she had the paper rolled tightly in her grip, Amy left to the door but was stopped by a sad expression-

Professor Saton, looking equally upset, and even depressed, stood before her – in his hand, he clutched the same newspaper article.

"Ian…" Amy sighed sadly.

"My dear…" Ian whispered. His voice was hoarse. "I'm so sorry. I called Carter the moment I read this…gave him a good yell…"

She retreated back to her office and sat down in her chair. Ian followed; the professor sat across from her, and shook his head grimly.

"Ian, I don't know what I should do…I mean…you _know_ the truth…" Amy noted. "I could accuse your nephew of printing false information and etc…but do you think he would back it up with whatever evidence he has? And if I'm found lying…could I lose my job-"

"My dear, Heavens no," Ian barked. "My idiot nephew will not lead to something that disastrous. Speak with Karajan. Tell him simply that Carter got carried away – say you had _a friend_ that was attending the psychic convention, and you were merely there to take a look around…as for the 'paranormal investigation'…"

"Maybe I can just say I've taken an interest in the case. My friends, Sam and Dean, are police officers who are lending a helping hand-"

O.O.O.O.O.

"-I called them because I know them personally, and I felt they could help more with the case," Amy said, sitting across Dean Karajan.

He was a very tall, slender man. He didn't look like he was in his early fifties. Perhaps it was because he dyed his hair every month to hide any grays. His hands were folded before him, the newspaper article itself laid beneath his large hands, and Dean Karajan was upset about the article as well.

Amy knew this, obviously. She also knew that Karajan was sympathetic with her. And the more she lied, the more he was inclined to believe her.

"I'm afraid Carter Lynn got only one thing right in the article by stating I was a professor at Northwestern…the rest is his crazy imagination. Carter also printed a story involving my friend, sir, so that just makes the situation even worse, if the family of this poor girl reads this-"

"Professor Cromwell," Dean Karajan laughed. He raised his hand to silence her easily, and Amy shut her mouth slowly. He laughed again and said, "I've dealt with Carter Lynn before. He has been known to exaggerate and never get the full story." He cocked his head to the side, signaling that everything would be okay. "If you'd like, I'll give a statement to a friend of mine – at the very same newspaper – for print regarding Lynn's article. Also, we could press charges for Lynn following you and also harassing others to get information on you. I'll have a talk with a lawyer friend and see if this is worth a prosecution."

"Dean Karajan," Amy sighed, "I'm glad for your faith in me. But I was just honestly worried about what this article would have you think of me. Now that I know that you're on my side, I don't want to turn this thing into something bigger. Professor Saton, Lynn's uncle, is talking to him and warning him about the trouble he may have. No prosecution. Your faith in me is enough."

The dean smiled and nodded his head. "I commend you for that, Amy." He always sounded sweeter when he called her Amy. "I suggest keeping away form this Carter Lynn. Sounds like a bad apple to me. You understand that if you change your mind and you want Lynn punished for this, I always have friends willing to help me out."

Amy laughed, relieved, and said, "No thanks boss." She grinned. "Your connections will not be needed." She got up to leave, smiling, and turned to the door.

"I'm glad you felt inclined to come to me, Amy," Dean Karajan said before she left. "You are the only professor, the only candidate that I could think of for this award. Your character there…definitely defies who you are."

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean and Sam, in the Impala, were headed to another address. Dean was on the phone, with Amy, while Same drove.

"…Okay, sounds good to me…" Dean said to Amy. "I talked to Grammy. She'll head over there about one. You have fun with your class today, okay?...alright. Talk to you later."

He hung up, stuffed the phone into his pocket, and flipped through Daryl's address book and his father's journal at the same time.

"Everything good?" Sam asked.

"Seems like it," Dean sighed, taking a break from the address book and going back to the journal. "The dean believed her. So I think she's okay now. She'll meet us afterward."

"Good good good," Sam sighed, relieved, and turned to see that Dean was flipping through several different pages. "Dad have any good info on _Rada_ or anything that could be helpful?"

Dean pursed his lips and shrugged. "The only info here on voodoo is stuff we already know. We've done the other research. Looks like we just have to find the one responsible and kick their ass and destroy the altar, Sammy boy."

"Sam," Sam corrected, "and the actual finding of this person has been frustrating enough. Where's this address we're going to?"

"Someone called Harp Genesis," Dean explained, "the label beside this guy is _Charms and Stuff_. Doesn't sound that interesting, but he had one of those star things beside his name. So he's worth checking out."

O.O.O.O.O.

They came to a small house in a rather expensive neighborhood. It was a cottage, fit for one person. Sam parked the Impala across the street and he and Dean exited the vehicle and crossed the street, up the walkway, and to the grand door. Dean looked around, confused, and said, "A 'Charms and Stuff' guy lives here?"

Sam grinned, knocked on the door, and instantly met with a strange looking man – he was tall, but skinny, and wore an oversized T-shirt and pants. This man was obviously on drugs, his face was pale and his eyes were sunken in.

"Yeh?" the man asked, leaning against the door frame.

Dean and Sam, at the exact same moment, pulled out fake police badges.

"We're here to speak with you sir," Sam explained, "about a murder that occurred recently."

O.O.O.O.O.

"Daryl…wow…" Harp sighed, sitting on a leather sofa, his sunken eyes looked almost wet.

Dean and Sam, sitting opposite of him, leaned in just to hear the man's soft voice.

"We're sorry…" Sam whispered.

"He was a good guy…" Harp continued in that same hushed tone. "I don't understand…"

"We believe a client shot him," Dean continued. "Someone who might have been upset that Daryl didn't do exactly what he, or she, wanted. Do you have any idea of what this might be about?"

Harp, confused, gave an expression as if he were just remembering where he was. He swallowed, pinched his eyes shut for a moment, and said, "Daryl came to me about a month ago…" He wiped his face from the single tear that appeared. Harp continued, "He needed the 'good stuff'…said a client of his was wanting something big…"

Dean and Sam looked at one another, then back at Harp-

"I gave him what he needed…in higher dosages…"

"Dosages of what?" Dean asked.

Harp shrugged and simply said, "Narcissus flower…Egyptian root…some herbal weeds from Central America…"

"Wait," Sam interrupted, confusing Harp for just a moment, "Daryl had you labeled as a 'Charms and Stuff' guy…not 'Herbal' guy like the others."

The thin man laughed, his voice cracking. "I'm not like Misty, man." He grinned again. "I have the same stuff, but used for different purposes…the Herbal guys sell to Daryl for actual mixins'…my stuff is used for protection."

"Protection…for…?" Sam asked.

"You guys are funny cops," Harp grinned, but went on anyway. "Daryl was a good Vodouisant. He would never hurt someone too bad. He would curse people to give them small stuff, diarrhea, cramps, forget something important…my stuff, Daryl buys it to ensure the person, who is being cursed, is protected…"

"I'm not following, Harp," Dean questioned.

He sat up in his seat, looking a bit more sickly, and Harp explained: "Lets say you want to curse your lying, slut-whore-of-a-girlfriend…you go to Daryl…and you want something bad to happen to her…you just don't know what exactly…Daryl advises to do something like…make her hair fall out…her teeth get more yellow…something bad, but simple…so, Daryl gets paid to curse this particular bitch…" He swallowed, thought for a moment, and continued. "Daryl is good at curses…so he curses the girl…but Daryl makes certain charms so that the girl is protected…basically, the curse doesn't last long or cause any damage in the long run…and the charms will eventually end the curse and the bitch goes on with her normal, full-hair and white teeth, whore-slut-bag-life…with that damned plumber we used to have come here once every month-"

"Umm, Harp," Sam interrupted. Harp stopped talking, almost forgetting what he just said, and turned to Sam. "Daryl came to you for a higher dosage…which meant he needed extra protection on this one…"

"We believe a client wanted to attack a girl…put her in a car accident-"

"Car accident?" Harp coughed. "There's no waaayyy man, Daryl would never do that."

"Yes, but…" Sam added, "this client will give Daryl a good amount of money…and Daryl decides to do it…what exactly would he do…"

"Man, he would put extra-protection on her," Harp said. "Knowing Daryl…he would do something that would not even cause pain. Cause an accident, yes, but nothing physically harmful to the girl. Maybe scare her…"

"These charms, are they like voodoo rituals? If the person who made them, died, would the charms go away?" Dean asked gently.

Harp shook his head. "Charms last. Especially good ones. My guess…Daryl did a pretty good protection charm. He almost tripled all the dosages I usually give him. This girl is protected." He grinned slowly. "Trust me."

O.O.O.O.O.

"Well, Isabella is _protected_ all right," Dean said as he and Sam got back into the car. "But it doesn't help…we don't know, Harp didn't even know, who the client was…"

Sam, sitting in the driver's seat, tapped his hands on the wheel and bit his lip.

"Isabella is protected…" Sam said slowly.

Dean looked at him oddly and questioned, "Yeah, you're point?"

Sam turned to Dean quickly and said, "Voodoo rituals…they're a connection between the person doing the curse and the person getting the curse…thus, that's why if the curs_er _dies, the curs_ee_ is freed…"

"Yes, duh?"

"Which means…" Sam thought aloud, "maybe Isabella…being the way she is…maybe she can somehow connect to the one doing this." He thought for another second, continuing: "Maybe if she's the one that actually concentrates and meditates…without the help of psychics…maybe she can, deep down, figure out who is doing this…I've seen it – her emotions are affecting the way she is now…when she gets upset, she fades away…but if she really focuses…she can find who is doing this…"

Sam started the car and pulled out into the street.

Dean nodded his head approvingly, but sighed: "Yeah, the problem is…Isabella is gone."

O.O.O.O.O.

_3.10 PM_…

Sitting in the apartment, Dean looked up at the black clock and sighed. "Time sure does fly when you're having fun."

On the center table were dozens of articles of voodoo rituals and any papers specifying ritualistic voodoo spells. Some articles dated back to the fourteen hundreds and others were found in present day. People had been arrested, after finding evidence of voodoo rituals, accusing them guilty of the cursee's death.

Sam flipped through the pages of his father's journal, jotting down any note that could be helpful. Dean was busily working on the laptop, printing as much as he could from Amy's printer, and jotting down his own notes.

The door to the apartment and Amy stepped through, even her steps were joyful as she walked in and left her stuff in the hall. She came in, sticking her hands in her back pockets, and smiled. "Everyone looks so busy."

Dean looked up and winked.

Sam grinned and asked, "Good day?"

"Finally," Amy sighed. "One of the most relaxing days. Two days ago things were normal…the last two days have been hell…did you find anything?"

"Just doing background info," Dean explained. Amy came around to where he was sitting and sat down next to him, sitting on the arm of the sofa. "Any sign of Izzy?"

Amy shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. "No sign. I tried screaming her name out, but it hasn't worked."

"We need her here," Sam sighed. "She can be the only one to save herself."

"Now that she's AWOL," Dean chuckled sarcastically, "we're back to the beginning. Nothing."

Amy rested her hand on Dean's shoulder and announced, "Grammy gave me a call. She's at the hospital with Izzy. Apparently they read the article Lynn wrote…they're pretty upset." She crossed her arms over her chest. "But Grammy comforted them, assured them Lynn's just a petty writer." She grinned.

"Well, Lynn's not a problem," Sam smiled back, "but Izzy is still in a heap of trouble. We don't know why Daryl's killer is extending this."

Dean: "Maybe the killer didn't know the amount of protection charms Daryl put on Isabella, maybe he can't break 'em, you heard what Harp said."

Sam: "The killer must be doing something wrong…they're losing their hold on Izzy…if her emotions are affecting her current state…it means the amateur Vodouisant – Daryl's killer – is messing up. But why prolong this?"

Amy: "Maybe he doesn't want Isabella dead."

Dean and Sam looked at Amy oddly.

"You said so yourselves that Daryl would never hurt anyone, especially kill them," Amy thought, "what if the client realized this…he could have gone to someone else…but he wanted Daryl to do it…maybe killing Isabella isn't the thing…maybe it's something else…"

"Maybe…" Sam thought, "maybe whoever did it, he or she, maybe they thought this whole thing could lead to something…not death-"

"But hurting her in a different way," Dean realized, "not death…maybe putting her family through this-"

"Or her family…" Amy thought sadly. "What if they wanted to go through this."

Sam ran his hands over his face in aggravation. He sighed loudly and snapped, "We can't be thinking like this!" He shrugged and sat back on the couch. Dean and Amy were looking at him. "It's just," Sam explained, "all these assumptions and guesses…good for normal investigation but not for us. We need Isabella here, she can save herself if she tries…but if we keep thinking like this, we're going to be pointing fingers at the wrong person."

"Sammy, chill," Dean snapped back, "we'll get through this." He looked up at Amy, then back at his brother. Sam was so upset and this time it was showing more than ever. "Okay," Dean decided, "break time. We've been working since nine this morning. We take a break and we'll get back to it around four. Okay?"

"Isabella's life is at risk, here-" Sam argued, but Dean fought back, "But if Isabella isn't supposed to die, then we can afford to waste time. If someone wanted her dead, they would have killed her by now."

Sam, remaining silent, rested his face in his hands. Amy walked over to him, sat down, and rubbed his back.

"Eat something, okay?" Amy tried soothingly. "You guys get a sandwich to eat and a beer." She turned to Dean, giving him that look that said: "Take care of your brother." Dean nodded in agreement. Amy looked down at Sam and said, "Everything will be okay." She sighed and said, "While you guys take a break, I'm going to go down to the complex indoor pool. I need to swim a few laps, clear my head."

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea," Dean agreed. "You swim, we'll take a breather. Go ahead."

Amy nodded and leaned over to Sam to kiss him on the top of the head. He looked up, smiling half-way, and nodded.

The professor left the boys in silence while she went off to change.

Sam sighed and laughed at himself. "Sorry," Sam whispered, voice directed at Dean, "I didn't mean to freak out…it's just…"

"I know man," Dean sighed. "We've dealt with the big bad before…this has been more complicated for us. We're not even dealing with demons. We're dealing with a psychotic human being."

O.O.O.O.O.

The boys had done as told: They made a few sandwiches, grabbed two beers (one for each), and sat down to watch something on TV, other than news. It was a sports channel. Both Winchesters loved sports, especially football, and it felt like years before they actually sat down and watched a bit of the game. As they ate, they heard Amy coming from the hall and turned to her.

She was wearing a red, Speedo bikini; she wore black sweats and had a towel draped across her shoulder. In her hands were a small, silver key and a pair of goggles. Her hair was tied back in a pony tail and she walked across the living room in flip-flops.

"I'll be back in half an hour," Amy said, leaning down to Dean, placing a small kiss on his temple.

Dean grinned up at her and said, "You look good." His eyes couldn't help themselves. It had been a while since he'd seen her stomach. He remembered her slender stomach, and small lines outlining her abs, back when they were in 1997 and Amy had dressed like an exotic dancer. Dean was gazing at her and Sam coughed loudly.

"Umm, have fun," Sam grinned, staring down at Dean. Dean gave that look that said "What did I do?" and he turned to Amy and smiled.

"I'll be back," Amy laughed, trying to hide the blush. She realized she was comfortable in walking around in a bikini around the Winchesters. They used to spend a lot of summer-pool-days together in the younger years. But now that she and Dean were together, Amy wished she had grabbed a shirt to put over .

She left them rather quickly, almost skipping to the door, and closed it behind her.

Sam shook his head, laughed, and continued to eat.

Dean was still in a gaze. His younger brother laughed at him; Sam continued to chuckle until Dean noticed.

"What?" the older Winchester snapped.

"God, it's awkward," Sam laughed. "I mean…we've seen Amy in a bikini before…and now it's like you're _actually_ staring at her…oh boy…"

"Hey, she's my girl, so you better not be staring," Dean threatened.

"Dude, are you serious?" Sam smirked. "Amy's never been that way in my eyes…you, on the other than, you two always had a thing…but now…geez Dean. Are you guys actually in a relationship now?"

"Oh c'mon," Dean complained, taking a swig of his beer, "we're taking a break. Don't go Oprah on me and 'Lets talk about our relationships'…"

Sam swallowed a bite of his sandwich and leaned back in his chair. "But you're calling her your girl…you got defensive around Officer Blake when you first met him…even Lynn's article got to you…and now…you're staring her down…" He shook his head and laughed. "Dean's got a girlfriend," he sang annoyingly. Sam was quick to dodge a flying chip at his head, and he laughed even more.

O.O.O.O.O.

The article about Amy, with the blood circling her face in the photo, was placed on a different table. The hooded figure, whispering something under their breath, stroking the vile around his neck, waved his hand over Amy's photograph, smudging the blood from the circle onto her face.

O.O.O.O.O.

She flip-turned, kicked from the wall, and Amy shot through the water quickly. She raised her arms and scooped them through the water while her legs were busily kicking to push her through. She swam with a pair of goggles on and took a breath every four strokes. She flip-turned again when she reached the opposite wall.

It was a fast lap, she was determined, and she continued to stroke and kick faster as she went lap by lap. Taking another deep breath, Amy pushed herself to go faster and forced her arms to work harder.

The indoor pool was located in its own special location by the front office. All who lived in the complex had their own key to get in.

Amy had been lucky to be the only one there. Everyone else was either at work or school. No kids and no adults to ruin a good swim. She even dimmed the lights a bit and closed the curtains to give the place a more serene atmosphere. As she swam, her eyes could see the clean blue water through her goggles, and since there was barely any light in the place, the walls and everything else looked gray. The only bright light in the pool were the lights on the bottom of the pool. Amy had found ways to sneak into the pool after the hours were up, and she could turn on the lights herself and swim. Swimming was a way to escape the stress that always seemed to find her. Swimming made the headaches and migraines go away. Swimming made her forget that the dead always seemed to find her.

Something wasn't right. Amy was in the middle of flip-turning when her stomach seemed to churn and, instead of kicking off the wall, flipped herself over and she pulled her head out of the water. She pulled her goggles off, strands of hair had found their way to the sides of her face, and Amy looked around.

No one was there. No one had opened the door; it was loud enough for people, even in the water, to hear. Feeling silence and not even a presence in the natatorium, Amy was sure it was okay to continue swimming. _I'm just paranoid, _she thought. She was going to do another lap soon, but decided to just tread water for a minute.

She placed her goggles back up on the floor, and dunked her hair in the water. She pulled off the hair tie and let her hair free in the water. Running her fingers through her hair, Amy popped up to the water's surface and treaded for a minute. She turned herself around and swam in circles until she could get that sick feeling in her stomach to go away.

But it came back again, stronger this time, and Amy snapped her head around to view the entire pool area. There was no one, still. Her stuff had been placed on a chair and her goggles were just on the natatorium's floor now. She was alone, treading water, fear growing deep within her. She dunked her head again, under the water, and came back up, spitting out the chlorine-filled liquid. Amy licked her lips and continued to turn around in the water. No one was there…

Her head was painfully dunked down into the water. Amy felt her entire body ache as she was pushed down, twelve feet, all the way to the bottom of the pool. There wasn't a body pushing her down. Amy, without her goggles, couldn't make out anything but a blue blur.

People tell you, when you're in that situation, to not thrash around or open your mouth so that you lose air or have a panic attack and drown. But Amy had forgotten everything. She seemed to forget how to do anything but fight back the pressure that was pushing her down. She opened her mouth, screaming through the water.

Air was slipping away from her…she thought she still had it…she continued to gasp through the water…

From the top, looking down at her, Isabella's mouth opened and she screamed. "AMY!"

Isabella could only see that something was keeping Amy down there.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean and Sam, watching the game, were surprised when Isabella appeared before them. They jumped slightly, and didn't have time to say anything-

"Get to the pool! Amy's DROWNING!"

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy was still fighting. She had managed to push herself off the pool floor, but something was still pushing her down. Her loose hair was swimming pass her face. She couldn't see anything but her hair now…she opened her mouth, a bubble popped up onto the surface…

She got free! Somehow she had done it. Amy pushed off from the floor and swam to the very top. But just as her head got above the surface, and she struggled for air, Amy was pulled down again.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god…_was the only thing she could think of. The last breath of air she had taken seemed to be the only precious thing she had. She didn't feel arms or a body push her down, but a heavy pressure that scared her so much she screamed.

Air. It was leaving her now…she was gasping and screaming through the water again. She felt her back being pinned to the bottom of the pool and her ears popped. Her hands pressed against the pool floor, trying to push and kick her way back to the top…

Her chest hurt. She felt tired. Her arms and legs refused to kick and push as hard she wanted them to…

She blinked slower this time…until her eyes closed and her arms were floating above her. The phantom pressure, whatever it had been, was gone.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: Thank you all for your great reviews! And I'm glad to say that I've had over 100 hits to my chapters, so I'm glad so many people are enjoying them! "That Ol' Black Magic" is ALMOST done. Maybe 4 or 5 chapters left. I really enjoyed the episode "Hunted"! And I can't wait for more!

REVIEWS/COMMENTS APPRECIATED!


	18. Ch 16 x Save Yourself

**Chapter Sixteen – Save Yourself**

The indoor pool was near the entrance gate, and the way Dean and Sam had skipped every four steps on the stairs, and the way they darted across the yard and down the main street, it only took them one minute to get to the pool.

They had run, faster than they had run in such a long time, and they didn't stop.

Sam and Dean came to the indoor pool and Dean, going to the door first, twisted the knob as hard as he could, but found it locked. Their faces were red and they didn't have time to breath.

"DAMMIT!" Dean yelled, and together with Sam, the brothers stood side by side and kicked the door opened.

Sam ran in first with Dean following close behind. They ran to the pool's edge and found Amy's body on the very bottom.

They dived in together. Dean swam down, grabbing Amy around the waist, and he swam back up to the top with her. Sam, treading on the top, grabbed Amy's upper body as she and Dean floated back top.

"AMY!" Sam screamed, trying to tread water and hold up Amy's body at the same time. Dean came up, gasping for air. Both brothers had a tough time getting her up to the floor, both had jumped in with heavy clothes – their jeans were causing more weight on them.

But Sam jumped back on the floor first, and Dean hoisted Amy in the air enough for Sam to grab her underneath her arms.

By the time Sam had Amy's body on the floor, Dean was up to and he crawled beside her and propped her head up carefully.

Dean took a large, trembling breath and bent down to put his mouth over hers. He breathed three times. Then moved his mouth and sat up to carefully place his hands on the correct position over her chest. He pressed down hard, but careful enough, down on her chest, about twenty times. Nothing. He bent his head down and breathed three more times-

Isabella had appeared. She stood behind Sam, eyes wide and hand over her mouth, Isabella stopped herself from screaming.

But Dean wouldn't stop. He made twenty more presses on her chest and Dean breathed again into Amy's mouth-

Amy's eyes didn't open, but her mouth did and a cup's worth of water came spilling out. Sam, relieved, sighed and put his hand over his mouth.

She was still choking up water, and Dean carefully helped Amy to roll onto her side. She gasped for air, and once she was done, Amy began to shake and her eyes opened for just a moment. Dean, tilting her head so that she could look at him, laughed in relief, and didn't care that tears were strolling down his face. He helped Amy sit up, and at that point he didn't care if she was done getting the air she needed, but Dean held her shaking body in his arms. He held her tight, and cried. Dean was crying. His eyes were red and puffy fast. Amy clung to Dean and she was crying too. At first, she cried because of the fear that she had almost drowned. But she cried continuously after Dean had done so.

Sam's lips were trembling as he smiled and he turned around to look at Isabella. She was smiling too, and crying, and both turned back to look at Dean and Amy.

He buried his face into her wet hair, Amy wrapped her arms tightly around Dean's neck, weeping into his skin, and kissing his shoulder.

"Dear god, don't do _that_ again…" Dean choked out, not caring that he was still crying.

Amy laughed and cried at the same time. Her body still ached and shook, Dean felt this, and it made him hold her tighter. His tears became less frequent until his eyes were just red and they would water every so often.

Sam sat closer to the two, putting his hand on Amy's shoulder, and she turned for a moment to look at him. It made her cry even more. Sam, just as selfish as Dean, grabbed Amy into his arms and held her too. He had done his crying, alone, and it was his time to just hold his friend.

O.O.O.O.O.

"There's a Higher Power telling me to stay away from pools," Amy grinned weakly. She had been carried back to the apartment and refused to take a shower. Water and anything else liquid-related was something she tried to avoid. Her hair and skin smelled of chlorine and her face was slightly pale – not as pale as Isabella's – but pale enough to make one stop and stare grimly. She was wrapped in a towel and her hair, still tangled and wet from the pool water, rested gently on her thin shoulders.

Sam hadn't found the joke funny. No one did. And Isabella had no idea what she meant; the comatose girl wasn't aware of the Natiskawa incident. The twenty-two-year-old psychic sat down on the floor, next to Amy's legs, staring up at her with a half-smile, half-frown. The look of worry was plastered on his face, and Amy realized this look wouldn't go away.

Dean came from the kitchen carrying a large glass of orange juice. He had heard the joke, but didn't laugh. Even though he had cried ten minutes earlier, Dean was back to rebuilding the brick walls around himself. His face looked dry from the past tears; his eyes looked puffy and tired.

He handed her the glass without a word and sat down slowly beside her. Amy was glad to have him so close to her, feeling his arm brush against hers. She took a long, unwanted sip of the orange juice. The taste was a great relief; the amount taken in was due to trying to make everyone around her feel better. Isabella, as always, stood in the center of the room, her leg half-way going through the center table. She reached over to place the cup down but Sam assisted her in this.

Amy created a small laugh and looked to everyone. "I'm fine."

"I'm tired of this 'I'm fine' stuff, Amy," Dean said crossly. He looked at her seriously and said, "You could have drowned – you were close – and-"

"We need to be discussing what it was that attacked me," Amy interrupted. She was serious too, now, and the look in her eye kept Dean from saying another word.

"There was no one in that pool," Sam explained.

"I was there for just a sec, but I didn't see anyone…it was like Amy was pinned down at the bottom of the pool-" Isabella paused, seeing the look on Dean's face, but continued anyway, "and she was fighting something invisible."

"It was a _pressure_," Amy said ominously. "A strange pressure. I didn't feel an actual pair of hands on me. Something was pushing me down." She looked down at Sam, who was rubbing his chin.

He looked up, sighed, and Sam whispered questionably, "_Rada_?"

"Wait, that voodoo spirit thing that did this to me?" Isabella gasped.

Sam nodded throughout his mental thought process. He was quiet. But he was so confidant in his words. "It was a _Rada_…the one who is doing this…sent the damned thing to Amy…"

"Why-" Amy started, but Dean interrupted angrily, "Because that Carter printed that newspaper. Whoever shot Daryl Greene and whoever is responsible for Isabella…"

Sam: "Saw the article and got pissed, somehow. It's why you couldn't see it. Isabella only saw it because she was out of her body at the time."

Dean: "We need to find the amateur Vodouisant…" He gritted his teeth together. "And kill Carter Lynn."

O.O.O.O.O.

Amy was safely taking a shower, with Isabella sitting in the bathroom. Dean set it up so if anything were to happen, Isabella would give the warning.

Sam laid everything out on the table. Guns. Rifles. Knives. Rock salt. He even put some salt around the house, hoping it could keep out a poorly tamed _Rada_. Amy protested to the rock salt, but was promised it would be vacuumed up the moment all of this was finished.

Dean sharpened a small pocket knife against a little wood case on his knee. He was obviously still angry. It was the second time he had to pull Amy out of the water. The memories from the Natiskawa deal hadn't been fun, and this one had just made things worse.

She said she was "fine" about the nosebleeds, and "fine" about almost drowning. What else was she "fine" about? Dean wondered. _Does this girl handle everything okay? She's the most kept-together person I know…_He checked the blade, found it promising, and put the materials away and smoothly stuck the knife in his back pocket. _Why would the article be the reason to attack Amy? Because it mentioned paranormal investigation, and the bastard thought Amy was a threat? The paper only mentioned her name…not mine, not Sam's…_Dean balled his hand into a fist, watching Sam load a rifle with rock salt. _I'm going to find the voodoo bastard and kick the crap out of him, then I'll find Carter…and do the same…_

Amy came back to the living room. Color had returned to her face. The smell of chlorine still remained in her skin. The smell was mixed with a gentle vanilla fragrance. Her hair was damp, leaving wet spots on a blue T-shirt.

She came around and sat down next to Dean on the couch. She sank in while Dean was sitting on the edge. He turned to look at her, watching as she studied his face for a second, and gave her a small wink. Amy reached her hand up and rubbed Dean's back slowly.

Dean turned to Sam, and looked at Isabella, who was still pacing the living room.

"Everything set?" Dean asked.

Sam looked up, setting down a rifle on the table, and nodded. He, Dean, and Amy then turned to Isabella. She had stopped pacing.

"Okay, Izzy…it's time…" Sam mentioned softly.

Isabella put her hand on her neck and nodded. Amy looked over and said, "You just have to concentrate…"

"But what if I can't…" Isabella breathed. "I tried meditating once…got bored out of mind…how am I supposed to do this…"

Sam got up and walked to Izzy. He stood before her, holding his hands out gently, as if to comfort her. But even though Isabella wasn't there physically, his open hands brought comfort.

She looked up at him with sad, pale blue eyes.

"When you were angry, you were affecting your spiritual state, as you are now…" Sam explained. "In your physical state, your mind is working fine…and we know that the Vodouisant is losing control because you're starting to gain some control…understand?"

She nodded.

Sam held his hands out, almost demonstrating and comforting at the same time, and looked her dead in the eye. "You have to think back to the accident. Think about just driving you car…think about the crash…and seeing your body…think about how helpless you were…then think about realizing you had the ability to travel anywhere, just by thought…and think how angry you were…about Daryl…about your family…"

Isabella closed her eyes and shook her head, angrily, and paced the living room again. "It's too hard…I don't know what to do…sit down and close my eyes, or-"

"Izzy, listen…" Sam repeated, his voice was so soothing. Isabella stopped to look at him. "It's not about meditation. It's just your thoughts. You have to connect with your feelings. Let all the emotions inside of you out…that's where your power comes from. The only power you have now is tied in with your feelings…" He looked at Isabella desperately. "That's how you can connect with who is doing this. There _is_ a connection between you and the Vodouisant…you are the _only_ one can go through this psychic wall the _Rada_ is responsible for…"

Dean got up too. He looked at Amy, then turned to Isabella. "Izzy…" Dean tried calmly. "This person tried to hurt you and your family…this person tried to _kill_ Amy…" Isabella looked instantly at Amy, feeling guilt rise within her. "You have to feel what we felt before…you can save yourself…so do it…"

Amy shook her head and got up. She approached Isabella, standing close to her as if to hug her. "Listen…" she whispered, watching as Isabella looked as if she were about to cry. "Emotions and feelings are a great power, trust me…" She gulped slowly, waiting for Isabella to get a hold of herself. She was shaking. "You have to imagine a line. Between you and everyone you know. People you met. People you slightly remember. People you hate. People you love. You have to dig deep down…imagine this invisible line connecting you with every person…" Isabella, lips trembling, closed her eyes. Her forehead wrinkled as she began to concentrate. "Try using one specific emotion…" Amy instructed. "Don't try to use all of them…think of something very powerful…you were angry before…try using that…"

"It tried to kill you…" Isabella whispered, her body was still trembling – it looked like the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

Not sure if Isabella was making the right connection, Amy continued: "Use that feeling. It's been bottling up. It's your defense. You can use it. It's helpful. It keeps the bad stuff out and the good stuff in. In this case, the good stuff is the identity of the voodoo man or woman…" She paused, looking at Isabella. Her own empathic abilities couldn't help in this case. "Breathe…Izzy…feel air in your lungs…_feel_…think…concentrate…"

Isabella stood still. It hadn't been a dramatic change, but the way she had done it caused Dean to step beside Amy, and for Sam to take a step closer.

She was quiet. Her eyes were still closed…_Hero… the nurse at the hospital…_ Izzy eyes fluttered, not opening...S_am…_She couldn't just see the person, she saw where they were…either at the hospital or at home…_ Grammy…_She felt like she was flying. Her lips parted, as if to breathe, and sighed.

Her eyes opened and Isabella sighed.

"What did you see?" Sam asked quickly.

Izzy licked her lips and shook her head. "I didn't see a person. But a place…dark, cold…not in a house…somewhere in a large area…tall ceiling…I saw the altar…with my picture…and I even saw the newspaper article with Amy's picture…blood…" She looked up at the others and said, "I'm sorry…that's all I saw…I couldn't connect to a person…but I saw this place…"

"Could you get there, if you thought about it?" Dean asked.

Isabella shook her head. "I can't…"

"Izzy, maybe you can try…" Amy suggested, but stopped shortly.

The comatose spirit had faded away, and then faded back.

"I'm _so_ tired…" Isabella had whispered. Even her voice seemed distant.

"Izzy…" Amy gasped, feeling scared and anxious.

Sam took a closer step to Isabella. Her eyes did look tired. And at some point, she was still there, but transparent.

"Stay with us, Isabella…" Sam demanded sadly. His eyes widened when she seemed ready to fade again.

"Dark, _cold_…" Isabella whispered. "I'm _so_ tired…" She stared up at the three, depressed, sad, alone… "Something's _happening_…"

She faded away completely then. And just as it happened, Dean, Sam, and Amy, grabbed all the weapons from the center table, and ran out of the apartment.

O.O.O.O.O.

The Chevy Impala squealed into the hospital's parking lot. Amy was first to jump out, followed by Sam and Dean.

O.O.O.O.O.

There were loud, familiar noises as Amy, Dean, and Sam ran towards Isabella's room. Hero and Greg, both wrapped in each other's arms, stood outside, glancing through the window. Hero was obviously crying, with Greg holding her tight to keep her standing, or at least still.

The noises were coming from Izzy's room. Dean and Sam peered in, seeing two doctors and a few nurses trying to resuscitate Isabella.

Amy, beside Hero, asked shakily, "God, what happened?"

Hero shook her head as she wept. "Her vital signs dropped dramatically or something. I'm not s-sure what the doctor said…bu-but…" She looked through the glass, seeing her daughter lay still in the hospital bed, with the doctors working quickly around her. "My ba-baby…" Hero gasped. "My daughter…"

O.O.O.O.O.

Isabella had been saved. The doctors couldn't explain the sudden drop on the monitor, indicating her vital signs, but she was alive. That was what mattered.

Grammy arrived on the scene after it had happened. For an old woman, she could get a cab and force the driver to speed against his will. She wore a turquoise sweater and a tight pair of jeans. The woman was comforting Hero, who was still weeping on the floor, just outside of Isabella's room.

Isabella, in out-of-body form, hadn't shown up. Although she was still there, alive, _physically_, the others had no idea if they would see her again.

Amy sat in a chair, beside Isabella, holding her hand.

From the door, Dean watched Amy quietly speaking to the girl in a coma. He turned back, looking at Sam, who just showed up.

"What'd you get?" Dean asked quietly.

"Vic was apparently out with friends, again, while it happened…Hunter was at his hotel…and the dad is still a no-show…according to the last phone call…his car _mysteriously_ broke down and his cell died…so that's why it took him forever to get here…and he didn't have any numbers memorized, so no way to call…"

Dean sighed and stared back into the room, staring at Amy and Isabella.

"Izzy said she saw some place dark, cold…with a tall ceiling…" Dean thought aloud.

"There could be a dozen places…" Sam bit his lip. He suddenly walked past Dean and sat down next to Amy. She looked up at him, hope dissolving before his eyes.

"It'll be okay…" Sam said aloud, but he wasn't talking to Amy. "It'll be okay…"

He put his hand on Izzy's arm. He took a long, deep breath. Eyes stayed opened. Sam stroked his thumb against her wrist…

He had felt something. He was _connecting_, again, like he had done in 1997. _Stretch out your mind, Sam…_he ordered himself. _Isabella's counting on you…_

He felt Amy's hand hold onto his. He looked at her, afraid of what might happen, but realized she wasn't going to pull away. If something bad were to happen, they were lucky to be in a hospital…

Dean wasn't sure of what was happening. But he didn't like the way Sam gave a worried look to his girlfriend…

Amy closed her eyes…breathing deeply…she connected with Sam easily…she took hold of his feelings…his emotions…she latched onto them…

Sam let out a calm breath…_Jessica, Mom, _he prayed, _Help us. And let Amy be okay…_

He closed his eyes. He remembered his father, John. He imagined him, looking at him with a smile. It had been so long since he'd seen him smile (not counting 1997-John Winchester). He thought of Dean. Their fighting. Their laughing. He thought of Jessica. He thought of his mother. He thought of Amy.

A line. He imagined a line between him and every living creature. Of every tree and animal. He could almost let his entire mind go. The meditation was so strong, Sam felt like he was being pulled underneath a crash of waves…

And he began to see…_Someone was looking down at the first article printed about Isabella's accident. It had a weak headline: **LOCAL GIRL IN ACCIDENT. **It was a full-paragraph article. _Sam was seeing through the eyes of the Vodouisant…_The person was angry at the article, and threw it down onto the floor…_ The Vodouisant was upset?..._The person created the altars. They always wore a dark robe… _There was still a nonexistent face Sam longed to see. _Shooting Daryl Greene…_Sam watched the poor man die…_He saw the person put a necklace around their neck, with a vile…looking up…a tall, dark ceiling…_

_A basement. There was a sign on the door that said STAFF ONLY. The figure walked to the back, passing by numerous pipes and a large furnace. There was the altar…with Izzy's picture…_

And for a moment, Sam could see something down on the floor. A sheet of paper balled up. _In bold words, the top of the paper read: **Staff and Maintenance, Keep Basement Clear and Clean. Keep Guests Out.**_

Sam opened his eyes. His first action was to look at Amy, who had passed out in her chair…blood dripping from her nose.

Dean ran to her side, holding her head up and yelling her name while slapping her cheeks (gently) to awaken her. Hero and Grammy ran inside to see if something had happened to Isabella.

Sam was taking in a few more deep breaths while checking on Amy. She awoke quickly, immediately wiping the blood from her nose onto her hand.

"You okay?" Dean asked quickly. "What the hell happened?"

Amy opened her mouth, but Dean said, "And you better not say 'I'm fine.'"

Sam's eyes widened and he leaped from his chair. "We have to go, Dean, now!"

"Why!" Dean shouted angrily. "What the hell is wrong with you, Amy-"

"I know where to go…" Sam shouted desperately. He turned, realizing Hero was in the room, and turned back to his brother.

Dean's eyes grew large as well. He stood up, with Amy standing too.

"You're crazy if you think I'm not coming," Amy breathed weakly, using her finger to clean the area beneath her nose.

Without trying to alarm Hero, Sam and Dean ran out of the room, Amy paused by Grammy, who was giving her a questionable look.

"I'll explain later," Amy muttered, and she chased after Dean and Sam.

Outside, in the hospital parking lot, the Chevy Impala, once again, squealed and sped out into the main street.

O.O.O.O.O.

A/N: The story is almost at its end! I'm so glad **SO MANY** people have taken an interest into my "series." I'm glad a new episode comes on tomorrow night (right?). I hope you're all enjoying and PLEASE, leave me feedback…maybe I won't update until I get…10 comments/reviews…in return. Then you'll get Chapter 17 and the conclusion of this story. And I already have a big story coming up for Part 5 of the _Meant To Be_ series! So please, continue reading and leave comments/reviews! They're fully appreciated!


	19. Ch 17 x The Vodouisant

Kate: I'm incredibly glad that you're enjoying all my stories, and I'm especially glad you were suggested to read this by a friend! Continue reading! And thanks for the great comment!

Lindsay: I'm glad you enjoyed the pool scene! And I'm definitely psyched that you enjoyed my writing – keep enjoying, please! Stay tuned for Part 5! "Playthings" was an AWESOME episode, definitely reminded me of _The Shining_ and _Rose Red_ – the references were fun.

Ghostwriter: As always, thanks for the encouragement, and I hope you will continue reading!

Spuffyshipper: Thanks for your loyalty for reading for so long! I'm almost done, and sad about it, but I'm soo excited about Part 5!

IheartPadalecki: Thanks for the review! Please continue reading and please continue to leave me feedback!

A/N: I also thought it was funny how "Playthings" was about Hodou/Hoodoo…(lol)…how ironic. It's actually another term used for Voodoo. Funny how things are…and the pool scene…made me grin too…

O.O.O.O.O.

**Chapter Seventeen – The Vodouisant**

The dark figure was muttering something. The hood covered their entire head and even their face. The lips moved slowly, as if praying silently, while stroking the vile around its neck. There were candles lit and smaller ones were arranged around Isabella's photograph.

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean, Sam, and Amy ran down unfamiliar, beige steps.

They kept running until they saw a door with a small sign reading: _STAFF ONLY_.

O.O.O.O.O.

The figure, continuing to mutter something under their breath, almost ripped the vile clean off their neck, due to surprise, as the door was suddenly kicked opened.

Dean stepped through first, rifle pointed directly at the figure, eyes wide with fury and an eagerness to unveil the masked villain.

Sam came in slowly, using his hand to try and direct Amy out of the way. He (and Dean) had forgotten Amy had been in similar situations. Dean and Sam were usually the hunters and there was a person who was usually in their way. But Amy was Isabella's friend – and nothing was keeping her out of that basement. Now Amy was one of them.

The three kept a careful eye on the figure, whose face was still hidden away through the darkness.

Dean tossed the rifle to Sam, who caught it swiftly, then pulled out a gun. The sound of the hammer being pulled back made a tiny _click!_ throughout the basement. Keeping his gaze right at the tall figure, Dean smirked and noted, "Going for the dramatics are we?"

The figure kept quiet, staring blankly at the three of them.

"I knew it was you…" Sam explained, pointing the rifle at the Vodouisant. "I don't completely understand why…"

"So…" the deep voice laughed. He lifted his hand, still gloved, to pull the hood back.

Hunter Austin was smiling strangely. He looked at each of them, and stared more closely at Amy, then back to Sam and Dean.

"Clever young fellows…" Hunter grinned. He took a step back, protecting the altar, and continued to touch the vile around his neck. "How did you _ever _figure it out?" He was mocking them.

Sam explained debonairly, "You dye your hair."

"That's not worth giving you a cookie, lad," Hunter laughed.

"One of the side effects of practicing Voodoo, as an _amateur_, can lead to the hair turning gray, even white…" Sam cocked his head to the side. "You also talk to yourself, very quietly, enough so that no one really notices. You have to say some sort of chant to keep _control_ of the _Rada_."

"Oh goody," Hunter yawned fakely. "Someone's been doing homework."

"The vile around your neck…" Sam pointed at with the end of his rifle, "…is used to control the _Rada_ and to keep _yourself _protected." He shook his head mockingly. "You Los Angeles guys…you're all the same."

Hunter shrugged and held his hands in the air defensively. "I don't see a crime here."

"You murdered Daryl Greene," Dean spat. "You caused a car accident and forced a poor girl into a coma. You tried to drown Amy…"

"I killed Greene, yes," Hunter shook his head sadly. "But I didn't cause the car accident. That was all Daryl. And drowning Professor Cromwell…it was the _Rada_…"

Dean held the gun more threateningly now. His nose flared; his cheeks clenched tightly.

Amy took a step forward, standing closer to Sam, and asked, "Why?"

"To help, Izzy, of course," Hunter explained gently. "She needed a boost in reputation…"

"_What_?" Sam snapped.

"She's not the _greatest_ actress," Hunter explained, "but she has the potential…and, one day, while I was miserable…I had an idea. Eureka! Isabella needed to be known first…before she became famous…there would have to be something big. Nothing scandalous…so I devised a plan. A car accident. Poor thing. And she's in a comatose state. And think of the poor parents who have to pull the cord because of their daughter's wishes…and…_just_ as they pull the plug…Isabella springs to life! Clinically dead for a minute or so…" Hunter rubbed his hands together, admiring the sound of his own voice too much. "It was great. Although Daryl was messing with things…and then Izzy only gets into two stories in the newspapers! And one of them…isn't really based on her…" He snapped his head to Amy's direction. "Thus, the drowning…"

"We're stopping this, Hunter," Dean grinned. He took a step closer to Hunter and to the altar.

Hunter shook his head and laughed. "I've always imagined this…the great, evil monologue. I grew up in the acting business people. You actually thought I'd make it _this easy_…"

The room grew uneasy, Sam looked at Dean, who looked at Amy, who was staring, terrified, at Hunter.

The same pressure, the exact one that had attacked Amy at the pool, swept toward Dean suddenly. He was knocked off his feet and flew against one of the large pipes.

"DEAN!-" Sam began, moving closer to his sibling, but felt his body being pushed back forcefully. He crashed into Amy first and then the two fell together against the hard, cold floor.

Amy ached while lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling that was at least twelve-thirteen feet high.

Hunter was giggling moronically. "See!" He touched the vile. "And the _Rada_ follows my command!" He laughed, slapping his stomach.

Rolling onto her side, Amy watched, horrified, as Hunter approached Dean, yanked him by the throat, and held the fallen gun to Dean's head.

"No!" Sam yelled forcefully. He and Amy got up slowly to their knees, but Hunter pressed the gun harder to Dean's temple.

"Another move…and we're going to have an issue…" Hunter threatened. He was smiling again. "And think of this story…pathetic, lunatic, psychotic fans of Isabella Jamison…upset they could never get near her…decide to use a voodoo ritual to harm her…they plan the car accident…cutting the brake line…and then, on the night that Isabella dies…" His smile grew wider. "The three kill themselves…" He began to laugh lowly. "I find that to be a lovely turn of things."

Before anyone could react –

Dean pulled out the pocket knife and stabbed it into Hunter's arm – the one in which he was holding the gun. Hunter reeled his arm back, screaming, dropping the gun onto the floor.

"The altar!" Sam yelled, crawling to his feet.

Dean jumped up, kicking down the screaming agent, and pushed the table over. Pebbles, rose petals, and all, fell onto the floor. The picture of Isabella was broken free from its frame.

"The vile!" Amy screamed after Sam, who was already kneeling down to Hunter.

He had just pulled the knife from his arm, bleeding all over the floor, when Sam reached down and pulled the vile from his neck. Hunter screamed, trying to reach it with his good arm.

He jumped back, and Sam, pursing his lips, threw the vile onto the ground, watching it shatter into tiny pieces. Sam finished it off with giving a final stomp onto the remains.

"Nooo!" Hunter choked out, holding his bloody arm.

Dean, walking slowly toward Hunter, bent down slightly and threw his fist downward, hitting Hunter square in the cheek, causing the man to be knocked unconscious. He remained quietly on the floor, while Dean limped slightly to his brother. His ankle hurt from the landing he had had from hitting one of the pipes.

Amy walked toward the boys, touching Dean's arm, and looked down at Hunter.

The three turned to look at what remained of the altar. The question now was what would happen to Isabella…

O.O.O.O.O.

Dean held Amy's hand while they ran through the halls of the hospital. Sam led the way, finding that Isabella's room was crowded with people.

Amy realized this to be Isabella's friends and relatives. The ten or so of them stood outside the hospital room, peering in, weeping and hugging one another.

Dean pushed pass the family and friends politely, still holding onto Amy while he led the way, and Sam followed close behind.

They blocked the entrance, upsetting some relatives, who then moved to look through the glass window.

Isabella was being kissed and cried on by her mother. Hero wept loudly, having Greg rub her shoulder from behind.

And Isabella was smiling. She was sitting up in her bed, still weak, feeling her mother's powerful arms around her. Vic was standing on the other side, sitting down, smiling and wiping a tear away. There was Grammy, sitting in the corner, with an impressed look on her face when Dean, Sam, and Amy looked her way. There was another man whom the three did not recognize. He was handsome, tall, with black hair, wearing a rugged outfit. It was Izzy's father, Matt.

The entire family was still soaking up the joy from the sudden (and random) awakening of Isabella Jamison.

Hero looked up, surprised to see Dean, Sam, and Amy, and smiled, as if the others hadn't noticed Isabella was away.

She was still pale, and her hair was flat and oily, but Isabella's soft grin made the others smile back happily.

"Sam…Dean…Amy…" Isabella whispered gently. Her voice was hoarse.

Hero, looking oddly from Isabella to Dean and Sam, forgot instantly that her daughter had never met the Winchesters. She continued to hug her daughter, and felt her ex-husband's arm on her shoulder too.

The family continued their celebration of happy weeping. Isabella continued to smile, her gaze never left the three standing in the doorway of her room.

O.O.O.O.O.O.

Dean, Sam, and Amy sat in the Waiting Room of the hospital. At eight o'clock at night, the news report focused mainly on the story of Hunter Austin – crazy lunatic who was trying to use "voodoo" to curse his client, Isabella Jamison.

The news story showed Hunter being forced into a cop car. He was still wearing the robe, and his arm had been bandaged up. He was screaming, not at anyone, but to himself. Hunter was still trying to use the same chant he had used before when he had the vile.

Dean shook his head, laughed, and sank into his seat sleepily. "Finally…" he sighed. "We're done."

Sam laughed and nudged Amy playfully. "'Guess we get that vacation now…"

"Looks like…" Amy agreed.

O.O.O.O.O.

_Two days later…_

It was Techno night at the club. Flashing red, blue, and purple lights filled the place. People from twenty-one to thirty-something danced with glow sticks.

Amy, dressed simply in black slacks and a white halter, nursing a beer at a large, round table, and laughed continuously as she watched her friend Erin trying to get Dean to dance. He wasn't much of a night-club person. He was a bar man, all the way. He was laughing, fakely, trying to make excuses to keep Amy from being lonely. He turned, caught her gaze, and pleaded with her telepathically to come save him. Amy shook her head, laughing, and then found Sam in the same exact position – Rochelle had him tight in her grasp.

The Winchesters had come in dress they usually wore: torn jeans, with Sam in a casual blue button-up shirt and Dean in a gray T-shirt.

It hadn't taken long for Dean and Sam to find an escape and make their way toward Amy – with the rest of the girls following. Erin and Rochelle walked coolly beside Dean and Sam, with Violet, Dana, and KC still back at the dance floor.

The waitress brought over the group's drinks as Dean took his seat beside Amy, leaning over to kiss her jawbone, and then took care of his own beer.

Sam was caught in between Rochelle and Erin. He smiled at each of the ladies, sweetly handing them each of their drinks from the center of the table.

"You boys need to loosen up," Rochelle laughed. "Not used to this sort of thing?"

"We prefer bars," Dean grinned, winking at Rochelle playfully. "Best play to pick up women too." He felt Amy's elbow into his side, coughed, and continued to laugh sarcastically.

Amy shook her head and said, "I'm glad though that we're here – you guys may be miserable – but you have to admit, it's finally a vacation."

"Amen," Sam agreed, drinking his beer.

Erin, drinking a martini, asked, "Isn't there another one who should be here?"

Amy nodded: "Isabella should be showing up soon."

"I can't believe it…" Sam sighed. He looked up at Dean and Amy. "Just…ya know…her being out-and-about…"

"She's feeling better every second," Amy added happily. "She needed a night away from her parents – her mom never leaves her side…"

Erin, putting her beer down, slapped her hands together and announced, "Dancing time!" Rochelle added a "Yeah!" and began to pull on Sam's arm. He waved his hand, laughing.

Sam: "Sorry girls, need a break."

When Erin looked Dean's way, he gave the same look Sam had given, and she and Rochelle left to go back to the dance floor.

Amy shook her head, laughing behind her friends, and leaned closer into Dean. She turned to the Winchesters, smiling, and said, "T-G-I-F."

"Amen to that sister," Dean rolled his eyes, holding his bottle up. Sam did the same.

The three heard Amy's name being called from a distance. Amy was glad she wasn't the only one who could hear it. She, Dean, and Sam turned and, heading their way, was a gorgeous young woman, dressed in a turquoise dress, walking toward them.

Her hair was straightened and swaying gently against her collarbones. She was back in color – cheeks and lips to their usual red – and she had more energy than she had had in years.

"Izzy," Amy smiled, standing from her seat to embrace her friend.

Isabella smiled, hugging Amy tightly, and when the two women released, they grinned and Isabella took a seat beside Amy.

"You look great," Dean commented.

"Thanks," Isabella said. Her voice was quiet; she was trying not to strain her throat so much.

"How are you feeling?" Sam inquired, passing a beer Isabella's way.

The twenty-one-year-old beauty took the beer, took a sip, and smiled widely. "I feel great…so…much more alive…"

"And 3-D," Amy laughed, "that's the best part."

"Yes, being back in my own skin feels great," Isabella tilted her head to the side.

"So how are things?" Sam asked, relaxing in his tall stool.

"Well," Isabella began, "my dad wants to stay in town for three weeks. Just to hang out, I guess. Mom and Greg are good. Vic too. And Hunter must be quite happy in his jail cell with a twelve-year-inmate…" She held her breath for the last part, creating dramatic tension. She licked her bottom lip and announced, "I'm moving back home."

"Wait, here!" Amy questioned happily. "Oh, really. Why?"

"Obviously the acting thing may take a while," Isabella sighed. "And I wouldn't mind maybe going back to school – not Northwestern – but just take a few classes, you know? And I really want to be closer to my family…I need a break from Cali."

"Here here," Sam agreed, holding his bottle in the air, and the four beers clanked together in a toast.

The four of them laughed in conversation and drinking. The girls from the dance floor continued to call everyone over.

Amy gave them the "one minute" finger. She turned to Dean and Sam and asked, "So, how long are you guys staying?"

"A week," Dean explained, "at the most. We have to get on the road as soon as we can."

"Still a job to do," Sam added.

"You know, you guys…" Isabella jumped in. "I never really…umm…thanked you…" She smiled at Dean and Sam with admiration and thankfulness. "You saved me. You all did." She turned to Amy, smiling too.

Dean shook his shoulders, as if shivering, and mumbled, "I'm around females way too much."

Isabella and Amy laughed, and Sam got up from his stool and he held his hand out to Isabella. He was trying to give Amy and Dean alone-time, but was also in a celebrating mood for Isabella. The young woman smiled at Amy, then turned to Sam's offer and took it gently in her small hand.

The two walked to the dance floor, Sam would most likely stand there while Izzy was having fun. They were chatting, and giggling, and Dean nodded his head approvingly. "Good ol' Sammy…"

"Is this how most supernatural events end…" Amy leaned her face closer to Dean's. "One, or both of you, gets the girl?"

Dean pursed his lips, stared up at the ceiling, and grinned. "Actually, yes."

Amy grabbed his arm but he wrapped his arm around her waist and held her closer to him. He held her face in his hand and kissed her, cupping her chin and letting his fingertips rest on her neck. She reached around him too, resting her arm on his back, and touching his scruffy chin.

He pulled away quickly (but playfully) and said, "After all…I'm Batman, and Sam's Robin…he rarely gets the girl."

"Batman, huh?" Amy laughed heartedly.

"What?" Dean asked seriously. "I _am_ Batman. I have the weapons and the kick-ass Batmobile. And I look dead sexy in black…and anything else, for that matter." He grinned. There it was. _That_ smile. Amy couldn't go a long time without seeing it.

The playful smile disappeared from her face. She looked down a bit, almost looking sad.

Dean lifted her chin with his finger. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Amy shrugged and said, "Before…it was four months Dean without seeing you. And after a week…you'll be gone again. How long? And I know you don't know for sure…but I…" She gulped and half-smiled. "I'm already missing you."

Dean, still touching her face, used his other hand to reach down and hold her hand in his.

"Batman always did have the crappy-relationship loopholes, didn't he?" Dean sighed.

Amy smiled, making Dean smile too.

She whispered, "I just know how long I can go without having this smile."

He grinned, cocking his head toward her, and he leaned in again to kiss her. It was a small press-against-the-lips kiss, but he moved his lips to her neck and then returned to gazing into her eyes.

"So, what does that make?" Amy asked, Dean looked at her quizzically. "Catwoman…one of the many bimbos Batman has probably had…" She laughed and said, "And remember, I'm allergic to cats."

Dean, pulling her close again, whispered into her ear, "You're the hot professor."

"Good," Amy nodded. She turned to Dean, seriously, and said, "Promise me something."

"Anything," Dean replied.

The serious look turned humorous. She bit her upper lip and said, "You'll never wear rubber or tights."

O.O.O.O.O.


	20. Epilogue

**Epilogue – Happily Never After**

Amy had fallen asleep in Dean's arms in the couch again. They'd be leaving the next morning, continuing the strenuous journey.

Sam couldn't sleep; he sat at the counter in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee at eleven at night.

There was something wrong. He felt it. His head was hurting. _Another damn migraine, _he thought, touching his temple sorely. He might as well have had a bruise all over his head.

He couldn't explain it, but the pain grew worse – not a physical pain, but somehow the pain was rushing throughout his entire body.

O.O.O.O.O.

Grammy was still in jeans and a Kansas band T-shirt before she decided to turn off the TV and go to bed. She yawned, looking up at one of her odd-looking clocks, reading: 11:13.

She shook her head, running her hand through her white hair. Grammy didn't notice that her odd clock, and the others like it, had stopped ticking.

She turned off one of the lamp lights, and was headed toward the hallway where her bedroom was, but stopped when there was a knocking at her door.

She approached slowly, concerned who would come to her house this late at night.

Her hand reached for the doorknob slowly, twisting it gently, as if there was someone else in the house to disturb, and opened the door.

A little girl, wearing a purple dress with pink flowers on it, stood on her doorstep, holding a camera.

"Carina," Grammy grinned down at the girl. She was a daughter of a family who lived up the street.

The girl automatically walked in, silently, and stood in the center of the house.

Grammy closed her door, worried that something had happened, and turned to the twelve-year-old.

"Honey, is something wrong?" Grammy asked nicely.

Carina had a cold face. She normally didn't appear this way. There was something off about the girl…

The child held her hand out. Grammy reached for it slowly, pausing for a second, and held the little girl's hand, as if to comfort her….

She pulled her hand back as if Grammy had touched fire.

"Dear Lord," Grammy gasped, taking a step back, "you're not Carina."

The little girl smiled. Her pretty blue eyes closed, and when the eyelids came back up, there were no longer blue eyes, but yellow.

"I feel like I'm caught in an episode of _Scooby Doo_," the demon said, using Carina as its puppet. "A whole, big, happy team. Out there fighting the Big Bad." Carina smiled. "And I'm worst of it."

"What do you want…" Grammy demanded. She was stern, brave, but couldn't help but show fear in her eyes. The demon saw this.

The little girl took a step forward, and Grammy took a step back.

"Sam can't be influenced…" Carina's gentle voice spoke. "Dean and Amy…they aren't threats." The girl laughed. "I used to think that girl would be trouble…but she's obviously losing her touch." The demon grinned. "She'll lose all power, soon enough…but you…" The voice was so grotesque, the demon talking through the innocent little girl. "So much power. You may not be close with the Winchesters…but you will be…eventually…I can't let that happen…and you know…" the demon crooned. "You know something's different about Sam. Yet, you didn't tell good ol' Dean…or Amy…"

Grammy scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not afraid of you, demon."

At that moment, Grammy's record player began to play. Sammy Davis' "That Ol Black Magic" began to play loudly. Too loud for Grammy's taste.

The old woman cringed, stepping father away, trying to reach the door.

"Our father, which art in heaven…" Grammy recited sadly, "hallowed be thy name…"

Grammy's body was forced into the wall. She screamed, clawing against the paint as her body floated toward the ceiling. Her head was forced against the ceiling; she felt her cheek slide against the rough ceiling as her back, pinned to the ceiling, reached the center.

The Demon, holding the camera, began to take pictures.

The old woman began to cry and scream. She couldn't move. Blood suddenly appeared near her stomach. She felt her flesh being torn and blood spilling out. Life slipping away.

The little girl was smiling as she looked up, feeling drops of blood fall to her cheek. "Thy kingdom come…" the demon whispered, giggling.

Carina walked toward the door, leaving Grammy on the ceiling, crying, screaming, bleeding…the demon turned back as it walked out the door. The camera was left on the front porch.

And as the demon walked away, from outside the house, fire burst through all the windows. In less than two minutes, the entire house was engulfed in flames…

O.O.O.O.O.

The Impala could barely park near the house. Amy struggled to get out of the passenger seat as she frantically jumped out, crying, toward Grammy's house.

The neighbors were outside, watching the firefighters try to take control. A police officer was holding a Ziploc bag, with the camera inside, staying up at the house.

Two firefighters came out of the house carrying axes. The fire had been put out.

Amy almost ran inside the house, but Sam was the first one to wrap his arms around her waist.

"Grammy!" Amy wept loudly. "Grammy!"

Dean came to her side, trying to calm her down, but couldn't help but look at the house – its windows and door were black from the fire. Smoke continued to escape from all openings.

Sam had had a vision. Amy and Dean, asleep on the couch, had awoken to Sam screaming. He was already out the door when he was explaining what he had seen…

_Grammy…on the ceiling…bleeding…_

_Dying…_

She tried to escape his grasp; Amy even tried punching Sam's shoulder.

"It's not too late! She can still be in there!" Amy cried. "It's not too late…it's not too late…"

But it was.

Dean had overheard that a firefighter said the entire living room was burnt to a crisp. There was no sign of an old woman. All that was left were burnt pieces of furniture and a large black, burnt spot on the ceiling…

And she couldn't stop crying. Amy fought…trying to get inside the house…and Sam found he was crying too. Dean was kneeling down on one knee, his hand resting on Amy's arm. She had finally collapsed into Sam's arms, crying hysterically.

Once again…an innocent had died…and it was _the_ demon…

Sam, through tears, stared up at the house. The smoke rose high above the house…

The police shoed most of the neighbors away. Some of them were kept to get information on what might have happened…

People lingered, watching Amy and Sam cry, and Dean was speechless. Emotionless.

The smell of smoke filled the area. Tragedy had torn a hole through their hearts. It filled them. And along with Tragedy, came Pain, Loss, Anger…

Guilt…

Sam shook his head furiously. And he stopped crying, but he continued to hold Amy tight.

It had happened again. And Sam didn't understand why. Why Mary? Why Jessica? And Grammy…

Hope was lost that night. Pain found a new home in those three individuals. More smoke appeared, and faith began to dissolve…Whatever Good Dean and Sam found from their previous expeditions, nothing seemed to matter that moment. Night was there. It had claimed one of their own. And day would come…forgetting all about Grammy. And the world would note the terrible accident as a brief tragedy. But there would be at least three people willing to do something about it.

**O.O.O.O.O.O.O.**

A/N: I really enjoyed "That Ol Black Magic," but I have to admit, I liked this the least of all my stories – just because I put the story on pause for too long, and lost touch with the story's purpose. But yes, I'm already writing Part 5 – which will be a change in how my series will go now. A great turn of events, and all that. I hope you all enjoyed, and please keep an eye out for Part 5 – REVIEWS/COMMENTS APPRECIATED GREATLY, especially since it's the end of this story. I'd like to hear your opinions on the entire story, parts of it, whatever you feel would be great use to me. Thanks again, and keep an eye out for Part 5! Thank you all so much for reading!


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